Ameliorate
by Azusina
Summary: The war is over, Harry's returned for his eighth year at Hogwarts, and he's forced to room with Draco Malfoy. The progression of how Draco and Harry go from enemies to friends to more.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Unfortunately, I didn't invent the wonderful world of Harry Potter. That would be J.K. Rowling. I own nothing but the little fantasies in my head.

**Summary:** The war is over, Harry's returned for his eighth year at Hogwarts, and he's forced to room with Draco Malfoy. The progression of how Draco and Harry go from enemies to friends to more.

**A/N: **This is my first drarry fanfiction, and it's really quite plotless, but I'm having fun with it and that's all that matters. :] A little bit of this, a little bit of that, and a hedgehog.

Also, Snape is alive in this story, simply because I like him and wanted to include him.

**Ameliorate**

**Chapter 1**

Harry collapsed into the armchair by the fire—he didn't feel like heading up to his new dorm room quite yet. Hermione and Ron sat down on the couch beside him with pity in their eyes.

"Rough luck, mate," said Ron, shaking his head. "To think you'd be forced to room with _Malfoy_."

They'd come back to Hogwarts for their eighth year as, for obvious reasons, they hadn't learned much the year before. But they weren't the only ones to come back. Many of their classmates had also been too caught up in the war to learn much, and had also come back to repeat the grade. Unfortunately, there wasn't enough room in their house dorms to fit the eighth years, so they'd been given their own dorm with all of the houses all mashed together.

When Mcgonagall had first announced it after the sorting, the hall had been filled with outraged murmurs. No way would that work, forcing Gryffindors and Slytherins to cohabitate. But evidently, Mcgonagall hadn't stopped there. In true Dumbledore spirit, she had inexplicably announced that each room would house two to three students, from _different houses_. All in order to promote inter-house unity.

"The war is over and the time has come for a new beginning. Let us start off by seeing each other with fresh eyes; no longer will old prejudices hold us back." She'd said, her sharp eyes looking pointedly at Gryffindor, then Slytherin. She'd then gone on to announce the new living arrangements, and Harry had learned that he was doomed to spend the rest of the year rooming with _Draco Malfoy_.

"Hey Hermione," Harry said, slouching in his seat. So far, she'd sided with Mcgonagall on the whole issue, proclaiming that the whole idea of forcing rival houses to live together was _genius_. "Do you think Mcgonagall's really trying to promote inter-house unity? Because it seems more like she's adopted Voldemort's job of ruining my life each year. Are you sure she hasn't decided to become the next dark lord?"

"Oh don't be so melodramatic," she huffed. "I know Malfoy wouldn't have been your first choice of roommate—" Ron snorted, "Oh alright, so he's a right foul git. But it's not like you have to talk to him or anything. It's just sleeping in the same room."

"Yeah but what if he tries to murder me? He could easily, oh I don't know, douse my toothbrush in a toxic poison or something. Stab me in the middle of the night."

Hermione heaved an exasperated sigh, as if he was being ridiculous. _She _was the one being ridiculous. _He _was being realistic.

"He won't try to kill you, Harry. He's on probation, remember? If he so much as puts a toe out of line, he'll be sent to Azkaban to join his father."

"Hermione's kinda right, mate," said Ron. Harry glared at him. The traitor! "Hey, I hate him just as much as you do," he said, putting his hands up in defence, "If it were up to me he'd be with his dad right now. But he probably won't kill you, you know, Slytherin self-preservation and all that. Still I don't envy you; he'll probably keep you up all night with insults." Ron grinned, Hermione smiled a little, Harry groaned and slouched lower in his chair, wishing he could just sink all the way into it and disappear.

* * *

When Harry finally entered his new room (he'd spent as much time as possible moping around in the common room), Malfoy was already there. He was lying on one of the two twin, four-poster beds, reading. He looked up when Harry entered and Harry braced himself for the scathing insult he was sure was to come. But Malfoy merely gazed at him over the top of his book, nodded his head, and said "Potter," before returning his gaze to the pages.

Harry was unnerved, to say the least. It was a moment before he blinked and went over to his own bed.

The room was almost perfectly split in half. On one side was Malfoy's bed which was set with the headboard against the far wall, a small bedside table between it and the wall, a wardrobe, and a desk on the side of the door Harry'd just come through. Harry's side was much the same, but there was a door on his wall that he presumed lead to the bathroom. A large window that looked out over the lake was set deep in the wall between their two beds, the sill of which was a cushioned window seat.

Harry was too tired to unpack completely; it was quite late after all, so he merely tugged out some pyjamas from his trunk, changed into them, and slumped onto his new bed. He sent one last suspicious glance to Malfoy's side of the room before removing his glasses and closing his eyes. Even then, it was a while before he fell into a restless sleep.

* * *

The next couple weeks passed without incident, but Harry remained firmly on guard. Malfoy hadn't said anything more to Harry after that first night; in fact, he seemed to be avoiding him completely. This confused Harry: for all the time he'd been at Hogwarts, Malfoy's blatant hatred of him had been a constant. It felt quite strange, now that the fierce animosity was missing. Harry really wasn't quite sure what to make of it.

* * *

He pulled his text book, parchment, and quill from his bag and set them on the table as everyone around him did the same. Transfiguration was the only class besides Potions the Gyriffindor eighth years shared with the Slytherins, and as they waited for Mcgonagall to arrive, Harry glanced over at the Slytherin side of the room. Malfoy had his head bent down and, unsurprisingly, didn't meet Harry's eye.

"Put your things away and take out your wands," said Mcgonagall as she walked into the room. Surprised, the students hastened to comply. They hadn't had a practical lesson yet this year. The spells they were learning were more complicated than anything they'd done before, and required a firm grasp of the theory before any attempts could be made. Evidently Mcgonagall had deemed them learned enough, and they were going to try conjuring live animals today, namely, hedgehogs.

"Now, remember that you must concentrate to pour your magic into the spell—as the more magic you use the longer the conjured object will remain in existence—and perform the wand movements precisely for any mistakes will not lend you results. We will spend this class time practicing."

It was a while into the class period before anyone got anywhere, but soon enough, Hermione had a small pointy hedgehog snuffling about her desk. Harry stared at it for a couple moments before turning back to his desk and concentrating. "_Ericius_," he said, making a complicated loop with his wand. With a small pop, a hedgehog appeared on his desktop.

Harry grinned, looking over at Ron who was presently turning an interesting shade of purple and waving his wand frantically. Hermione sighed and reached over to guide his hand. A moment later a little hedgehog appeared, upside down, in front of Ron. It was purple, but at least it was alive.

Seeing both of his friends' success, Harry turned to the other side of the room, expecting to see a smug Malfoy with a perfect hedgehog trotting around in front of him. After all, Malfoy was only second to Hermione when it came to schoolwork. Surprisingly, though, Malfoy didn't seem to be doing too well. He was bent over his desk, a firm scowl on his face, as his wand rendered a couple pathetic sparks.

A couple of Gryffindors closest to him laughed at his failed attempts. "Hey Malfoy, did the ministry take away your magic when they put you on parole, or are Death Eaters just naturally pathetic without their Dark Lord?" said one of the boys as the other snickered. Malfoy seemed to turn a bit pink and ground his teeth, his scowl deepening, but otherwise didn't respond.

Harry frowned as he turned back to his desk to find that his hedgehog had vanished. He suddenly felt quite frustrated. He hadn't won a war just for the antagonism to continue. He felt restless irritation crawling under his skin at the thought that his own house was now continuing the type of prejudice he'd sacrificed so much to eradicate. Glaring at the table, he made a sharp, violent spiral with his wand and hissed, "_ericius._" With another pop, another hedgehog appeared on his desk, gazing up at him dolefully.

* * *

At the end of class Harry's hedgehog was still sitting on his desk. Harry stared down at it as everyone around him shuffled around, slinging on their bags and leaving the room.

"Er…" said Harry hesitantly.

Mcgonagall walked over to him and eyed the offensive animal over the rim of her glasses. "Mr Potter—" she somehow made it sound accusatory, "Didn't I tell the class to stop conjuring ten minutes ago to allow time for the hedgehogs to vanish?"

"Yes, professor."

"Then why, pray tell, is there a hedgehog on your desk?"

"I conjured him twenty minutes ago, professor, but he hasn't disappeared yet. I don't know why."

The hedgehog sneezed.

"Well, Mr Potter I would guess that you put a little too much power into the spell. If that is the case, then there's no telling when it'll vanish on its own. I will have to vanish it myself so that you can get to your next class."

Mcgonagall raised her wand, "_evane—_"

"Wait!" cried Harry, throwing his arm out to stop her spell.

Mcgonagall expertly raised one eyebrow.

"Could I perhaps keep it? Until it vanishes on its own?" Harry had grown somewhat fond of the little creature after gazing into its soulful eyes for half an hour. It had been quite effective at calming him down.

"If you wish to, I won't stop you," acquiesced Mcgonagall.

"Thanks, professor!" Harry grinned and scooped up the hedgehog before darting out the door.

Ron and Hermione were waiting for him in the corridor. Hermione eyed his spiky companion curiously.

"Mcgonagall said she doesn't know when it'll disappear since apparently I put too much magic into it, so I decided to keep it," said Harry to answer their unspoken question.

"Whatcha gonna name it?" asked Ron as they began walking to their next class.

Harry thought for a moment, then proclaimed, "Hugo."

Hermione smiled. "Harry's hedgehog, Hugo. It has nice alliteration."

"Yeah, nice alliterwhatsit," Ron said. Harry laughed. "I wonder what Malfoy'll make of it?"

Harry shrugged and wondered himself until they arrived at the History of Magic classroom, whereupon he braced himself for an hour of utter boredom.

* * *

"Potter." Stated Malfoy sometime that evening as he came out of the bathroom, his hair wet from a shower and a towel draped over his shoulders. He was staring fixedly at Harry's bed. "Why are your bedcovers moving?"

Harry jumped. This was the first time Malfoy had spoken to him since that first night; he was quite surprised. He twisted around in his seat at his desk to see that, indeed, his blanket was wriggling a bit.

"Oh bother, he's gotten stuck again."

Malfoy turned to stare at Harry, surprise and suspicion in his eyes.

"He?"

Harry got up and pulled the covers back, picking up his new pet.

"Yep. Hugo, this is Malfoy. He's my roommate. Malfoy, meet Hugo."

"Is that from—?"

"Yeah. I conjured him in Transfigurations, but he didn't vanish so I decided to keep him."

Malfoy was staring at the hedgehog in surprise. He looked up at Harry, raising one perfectly groomed blond eyebrow.

"And you named him _Hugo_?" His tone almost screamed, _how plebeian_.

"Hey, Hugo's a great name," said Harry defensively.

"Sure, Potter. Hugo the Hedgehog, it's a perfect name for a _hedgehog_ owned by _Harry_ Potter," drawled Malfoy, stepping past Harry and over to his bed to read.

Harry rolled his eyes. "What is it with people and the alliteration?" he muttered, but he smiled as he went back to his homework, plopping Hugo down on his desk. Had he just had an actual conversation with Malfoy? A completely civil conversation devoid of scathing insults? He shook his head. _The world is ending, I'm sure of it._

* * *

Draco swore as he picked himself up off the ground, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and bloodying his shirt sleeve. _Bloody Zacharias Smith and his stupid bloody friends_. He flipped the bird at their retreating backs before wincing and turning around and staggering off. He trudged up to the hospital wing, his face burning with anger and shame. To think he'd gotten beaten up by a _Hufflepuff_. It was positively deplorable.

This was beginning to wear on his last nerve. Never mind that he was on probation and therefore had to refrain from hexing anyone who got on his nerves, he couldn't even cast a damn _expelliarmus _to defend himself. If he tried he just ended up making a fool of himself by emitting sparks and puffs of green smoke. Honestly, something needed to be done about it all. _But what can I do?_ Thought Draco bitterly as he struggled to open the door of the hospital.

"Oh dear, come here, let me take a look at you," said Madame Pomfrey as she bustled around him, waving her wand and clucking her tongue. "Children these days, absolutely horrid. What did they do this time?"

Draco sighed. "Trip jinx, and then just general… you know, punching and kicking and such."

He hated the pity in Pomfrey's eyes.

A handful of spells and a potion later, Draco was expelled from the hospital, his physical wounds healed but the blow to his pride still stinging. Feeling less angry but still quite miserable, Draco made his way back to his dorm, not especially up to going to dinner. When he got there, he collapsed on his bed, causing Hugo (whom Potter had left on Draco's bed, god knows why) to bounce and let out a startled little sneeze. Draco stared at him for a moment, before reaching over and gently petting his trembling spikes.

"How come you haven't vanished yet, hmm? It's been a few days, you know." Hugo blinked slowly at him and sniffed delicately at his fingers. "Just how much magic did Potter put into you, anyway? God, does he just go around leaking magic everywhere? How unrefined. And I have to live with him for the next year. _God_."

Draco turned over, one arm folded under his head and the other gently stroking Potter's hedgehog. Who Draco admitted was actually quite cute, now that he looked at him closely. Not that he'd ever admit that he'd thought that.

"You know, it hasn't been all bad, I guess. I mean, it could've been worse. I could've been forced to room with Zacharias bloody Smith. At least Potter doesn't beat me to a pulp every other day."

Draco sighed. "What do you think, Hugo? Do you think he would be horribly mad if I asked him? We did sort of have a conversation the other day, and he didn't seem too angry at me then…" Draco had wondered about that. Why wasn't Potter more hostile towards him? After all, he was a Death Eater. Even if it hadn't been his choice, he was still one of the bad guys. Wasn't it Potter's calling to rid the world of them, or something? But he'd been acting strangely civil towards Draco. It was offsetting, really. Draco didn't know where he stood, and Malfoys _always_ knew where they stood. There was nothing for it; he was going to have to take a risk. "I don't know, Hugo… I want to ask him, but what if he refuses? What'll I do then…?"

* * *

Towards the beginning of October, Harry noticed a change. Instead of ignoring him completely, Malfoy had begun watching him when he thought Harry wasn't looking. Harry felt the stares almost constantly, but strangely enough they didn't feel hostile…

"Is he still staring?" asked Harry one morning as he dolloped a hefty amount of whipped cream onto his waffles. He was sitting with his back to the Slytherin table, Hermione and Ron across from him with a clear view across the hall.

"Yep," said Ron after glancing at the blond head four tables over.

Harry shivered. "What do you reckon he wants, anyway? He's been staring at me for the past week. It's getting to be seriously annoying."

"Yeah, it's weird," agreed Ron, "It's like 6th year all over again, only in reverse. Now _he_'s the one stalking _you_. Maybe he thinks you're… _up_ to something." He said the last sentence in an exaggerated whisper, mimicking Harry's similar sentiments from two years ago.

"Oh har har," said Harry as Ron snickered. "Seriously, though." Harry turned to appeal to Hermione, his eyes earnestly wide, "It's interfering with my studies, I can't concentrate at all."

"Oh shut up," said Hermione, whacking him with a book she was poring over as she ate, "I know for a fact you aren't concerned with your studies in the slightest. Look. If you're so bothered by it, why don't you just confront him?"

"What – actually _talk _to him?" Harry said, shocked and horrified by the suggestion. Although… they _had _had that one semi-conversation and the world hadn't exploded or anything…

"_Yes_ actually talk to him. I know how abhorrent the idea sounds, but… maybe that's what he wants. To talk to you. He's just too much of a coward to approach you himself."

"Hey… that actually makes sense." Harry said after musing it over for a minute. He brightened. "Thanks, Hermione, I'll interrogate him tonight."

"Good luck trying to get anything out of that ferret, Harry," said Ron with a grin, "If he doesn't cooperate just call me up and I'll beat it out of him."

"Thanks, Ron," replied Harry with a smile. "I'll be sure to call on your services should the need arise."

With something like a plan now in place, Harry felt a little bit more relaxed. The rest of the day passed by quickly, Harry still feeling the prickling sensation at the back of his neck that signalled he was being watched, but not as apprehensive about it as before.

* * *

That evening Harry sat in his four-poster bed, doing a reading for Transfiguration and waiting for Malfoy to glance at him. Sure enough, it wasn't long before he felt the tell-tale tingling that meant Malfoy was staring again. Harry shut his book and looked up, abruptly meeting Malfoy's gaze head-on for the first time since this whole thing began.

"Well? What is it you want, then? You've been watching me for the past week."

Malfoy blinked, surprised, then looked away. There was something in his expression that Harry couldn't quite figure it out. It looked like nervousness… or fear.

He took a deep breath, then said, "I was wondering if you still had my wand and… if you do… if perhaps you could give it back."

It was Harry's turn to stare. That was what he wanted? It was so simple.

"Sure," said Harry. He'd completely forgotten about the hawthorn wand; it was sitting in the bottom of his trunk. He had no reason not to give it back… and now that he thought of it, he remembered how Malfoy's new wand hadn't been working for him all that well, no wonder he wanted his old one back.

He rummaged around in his trunk for a moment, and emerged with Malfoy's wand, looking slightly triumphant for having found it in all the mess. He held it out for him to take.

At first Malfoy seemed hesitant, as if he couldn't believe Harry was actually giving it back so easily. Then he grasped the wand firmly and took it back. As soon as it was securely in his hand, he visibly relaxed. When he looked up at Harry, his eyes were shining with emotion – relief, gratitude, something that might have been regret…

"Thank you," breathed Malfoy with a smile. A real, genuine, smile—something that seemed wholly unnatural on Malfoy's face… but at the same time felt more natural than any other expression Harry'd ever seen…

And Harry knew from the tone of voice and the depth of Malfoy's expression that the thank you was not just for the wand, but for everything: for saving him in the Room of Requirement; for testifying for his family so that, although Lucius was sent to Azkaban he was sparred the kiss, and Narcissa was merely under house arrest, Draco placed on probation. Harry nodded, acknowledging the thank you and the unspoken apology that seemed to underlie it.

Malfoy's smile disappeared almost as quickly as it came, but left a slightly more relaxed expression in its place. After that, he went to his desk to work on homework and Harry returned to his bed to finish up the transfiguration reading. As of that night realized that Malfoy had changed. Of course, the war changed everyone in different ways. As for Malfoy, it had apparently matured him—softened edges that were previously knife-sharp. Harry found that this new Malfoy wasn't too bad to room with, after all. With that one short exchange, they'd established a sort of peace, and Harry no longer dreaded heading up to his room every night.

TBC

A/N: I have some of the next chapter written, and a vague outline of the story, but I probably won't be able to update regularly. I'll do my best, though, and of course reviews would help a bunch. ;]


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** J.K Rowling invented these brilliant children, no matter how much I wish they were mine.

**A/N: **So this chapter was both seriously fun and seriously difficult to write. I was so enjoying it, that I had to force myself to stop and go to bed. I finished it last week and have had to restrain myself from posting until now. Haha. It was actually quite challenging to write their dialogue, because I kept making Harry speak too intellectually. I used lots of words like "affiliations" that I realized Harry would never say, and it was rather challenging to dumb it down.

Which brings me to my next point. There are instances in Harry's dialogue that I purposefully use bad grammar. Such as using "who" when it should be "whom". I just wanted to say that this isn't me being stupid, It's Harry being stupid. Not that my grammar is perfect all the time, I'm sure I make plenty of mistakes, but I am trying. :]

**Ameloriate**

**Chapter 2**

* * *

It was a week later, and Harry was sitting at his desk, gnawing on the tip of his quill and glaring in turns at the potions textbook open on his desk and the almost-blank piece of parchment next to it. Hugo waddled over and began nibbling the corner of his paper. Harry turned to glare at him too.

"Careful, Potter," came a drawl from the other side of the room, "I think if you try to think anymore your head'll explode. I'd really rather not spend the rest of my evening scrapping Potter-bits off the walls of my room if I can help it."

"Well then you should convince Snape to assign us homework in _English_," snapped Harry in response, scowling in Malfoy's general direction. The essay on the Draught of Dysphoria was due tomorrow, but Harry'd stupidly put off starting it until tonight. On top of that, he didn't understand the chapter on the potion at all, and had been pretty much writing gibberish for the past half hour.

Malfoy heaved what was, in Harry's opinion, a _very _exaggerated sigh, and sauntered over to Harry's desk to look over his shoulder. Harry got the sudden urge to cover up his paper, lest Malfoy read his sub-par paragraphs and laugh at him.

True to form, Malfoy scoffed when he'd finished skimming. "Potter, do you even know what dysphoria means? My goodness, this paragraph is simply abysmal." He tsked and shook his head as he dragged his chair over and plopped down next to Harry, taking the parchment in hand.

"Look here, the Draught of Dysphoria is a _poison, _not a simple base potion as you've described. It's meant to give the drinker a distinct feeling of anxiety, depression, and restlessness which will consequently lessen their ability to concentrate and effectively exhaust them both mentally and physically."

Harry stared at Malfoy; was he actually _helping _Harry with his homework?

Malfoy, oblivious to Harry's state of disbelief, continued, "What makes the potion significant is that it is almost completely undetectable. The poison itself is completely tasteless, odourless, and colourless, but on top of that, its effects don't register as the effects of poison. The feelings that it induces are perfectly normal, if slightly exaggerated, and therefore the drinker rarely suspects that they are under the influence of a potion and thus take no action towards counteracting it. It's quite a powerful poison and very difficult to brew; if made incorrectly it can be too potent and therefore detectable, or it can be impotent and therefore moot. Each of the ingredients is essential and the way they're prepared determines the potency of the potion, so if you look up each one then you should be able to understand how the potion works."

"Er… thanks," said Harry when Malfoy'd finished his explanation. "I get it a lot better now."

Malfoy nodded curtly and returned to his desk, as if Draco Malfoy helping Harry Potter was a perfectly ordinary occurrence.

Harry worked for a while, and made a lot more progress now that he had a slightly firmer grasp of the subject. He also mused a bit about what it meant that Malfoy had actually helped him. It was … odd, and Harry thought that if it had happened a year ago he would've turned himself into St. Mungo's, but for some reason it wasn't quite so alarming now. He felt that, strangely enough, perhaps it wasn't impossible for him and Malfoy to have a civil conversation.

"I always thought Snape just favoured you to spite me, but I guess you're actually pretty good at potions, huh?" Harry thought out loud, taking a break for the moment from the tedium that was potions homework.

Malfoy shrugged, but somehow made such an intrinsically modest gesture seem boastful. "I like potions," he said simply. "If you understand the ingredients, then they make perfect sense. It's easy for me to comprehend how things combine together to make something else, and it's satisfying to have that knowledge. A lot of magic is intuitive – they tell you to wave your wand like this and say these words and something will happen, but no one really knows all the reasons of _why _what happens happens. But with potions it all makes sense."

"Hmm… I've never thought about it like that before," said Harry. "I always just hated the subject on principle since Snape teaches it and he makes the class miserable for me."

Malfoy gave him a withering look, "That's a horrible reason to hate something," he said. "Haven't you ever tried studying it on your own?"

"Not really," Harry replied. "I mean, I was pretty busy with the war… But I don't think I would have had any interest in it anyway. I get what you're saying about it making sense and all, but I don't think I care all that much about knowing they why behind stuff. I like the mystery in waving a wand and making magic. If we understood it completely, it wouldn't really be magic, would it?"

"I guess. But I still think it would be fascinating if we could find out what magic really is, and understand it. If we did, then we could fashion spells for specific purposes and find solutions to many of the problems in the world."

Harry couldn't help but laugh a bit at that.

"What," said Malfoy with a scowl.

"It's just, it's funny how much you and muggles have in common."

"Excuse me?" Malfoy looked shocked and slightly horrified.

"What, do you still hate muggles? Still think they should all die?" Harry felt slightly annoyed at Malfoy's expression.

"What? No, it's not that. I never thought that muggles should be killed. They're a danger to our way of life, but that doesn't mean that they should die for it… I never really wanted for people to die…" Malfoy sighed, suddenly looking forlorn and upset.

Harry realized that they'd trespassed into dangerous territory, and all of a sudden he regretted bringing it up. It was clear there were still things they heavily disagreed on, but Harry didn't want to talk about it now. He felt a surprising urge to wipe that sullen expression off Malfoy's face, so he tried to wrestle the conversation back to lighter topics.

"Muggles really like to understand stuff too, you know," said Harry, and was pleased to see that the sadness in Malfoy's eyes was falling behind confusion. "In fact, there's tons of them whose job it is to figure stuff out. They're obsessed with completely understanding how the universe works. Have you ever heard of researchers? Physicists? Biologists? There's so many of them that they've divided up into categories of what they're trying to understand. I think that's part of why they hated magic all those years ago… because they couldn't understand it."

Malfoy was silent after that. He seemed to be slightly disturbed by that information, and Harry could easily imagine why. It must be weird, he thought, to suddenly see from a muggle point of view if you'd been raised like Malfoy was.

Harry went to bed that night still feeling slightly bemused. Sometimes it all suddenly crashed down on him, the fact that Voldemort really was dead, and the war over. It seemed almost like a dream: coming to Hogwarts for a threat-free year, Hermione and Ron officially a real couple, rooming with Malfoy, a Malfoy who helped him with his potions homework and could, if not sympathise, at least empathise somewhat with the muggles without exploding… Harry marvelled at all of this—this strange, strange, new world—and fell asleep with a smile on his face.

* * *

As the days wore on, Harry found that he enjoyed Malfoy's company which was bewildering. He tried not to overthink it, because when he did he tended to get a headache.

Now that they had moved past the open hostility and slightly-awkward silence stages, it was easy to fall into conversations over little things—conversations that Harry found stimulating and fun to engage in. Malfoy was intelligent and quite articulate, attributes that Ron frequently lacked, but his opinions were malleable and he took into account Harry's different point of views, things that Hermione often struggled with.

Living in the same quarters had allowed them to relax around each other, and fairly soon they were comfortable enough that they were able to have some difficult discussions without murdering each other.

"How come Hugo hasn't disappeared yet?" asked Malfoy one day. He was lounging on his bed, the aforementioned hedgehog shuffling around beside him. Harry was seated at his desk, flipping through a quidditch magazine. He turned slightly towards Malfoy.

"I'm not sure. Mcgonagall said that I put too much energy into the spell, which allowed him to stick around longer. But according to her, he should have disappeared by now regardless of how much power I used."

"Huh. You must've put a hell of a lot of magic into the spell then. And you weren't even trying?"

"Well I was feeling sort of distracted… and my magic tends to get out of hand when I'm feeling particularly emotional."

Malfoy snorted. "Right, and your temper's famous. So what pissed you off so much that you managed to conjure a hedgehog that hasn't vanished in a week?"

Harry blushed and looked at the ground. "It wasn't anything really, just something I overheard that irritated me a bit. It doesn't matter."

"Come on, Potter. If you think I'm going to let it go now, you're even stupider than I thought."

"It was nothing, seriously. Drop it, Malfoy."

Malfoy shrugged. "Suit yourself."

Relieved, Harry turned back to his magazine. For some reason Harry didn't really want to admit that he'd been watching Malfoy, and that he'd felt indignation at someone else bullying him. Somehow, it made him feel slightly ashamed; it reminded him a bit of how mean he'd been to Malfoy over the years. Still, Malfoy had always initiated most of it, and a lot of his remarks had been pretty hurtful. Still, Harry thought that they'd moved past all of that, and he didn't particularly feel like bringing it back up. It just made him slightly uncomfortable.

Fifteen minutes later Harry sighed internally. He should've realized that the Slytherin had given up far too easily. Really, he'd thought they were past this. Once again, the little hairs on the back of his neck were prickling. Malfoy had been staring at him for the past fifteen minutes, and it didn't look like he'd stop anytime soon. It was messing with Harry's concentration; he couldn't enjoy the intricacies of the Hollyhead Harpie's latest incredible win.

"Alright, alright, I give up. What do you want?"

"I don't want anything, Potter. I'm perfectly content to sit here while you don't tell me about what got you so riled up in Transfigurations. Honestly, I don't want to hear it at all."

Harry rolled his eyes. He was quickly learning that Malfoy's drawl was more often than not sarcastic.

"Fine. I was angry, because I overheard Jimmy Peakes and Nigel Wolpert being prats."

"Wow, Potter, that clears it all up now, thanks ever so. Who the hell are Jimmy Peakes and Nigel Wolpert?"

"Just some stupid Gryffindor tosspots."

Malfoy widened his eyes in mock shock, placing an offended hand delicately over his open mouth. "Oh my. I didn't think I'd ever see the day. Harry Potter actually admitting that Gryffindors who aren't all perfect and brave and gold exist. My goodness, I'm simply shocked speechless. What on Earth did they do?"

Harry _really _didn't want to talk about this, but he could see that Malfoy wouldn't give up. He hoped that his roommate would drop the subject with his next statement.

"Your wand wasn't working for you and they made some stupid jibe about the Ministry and Death Eaters."

A moment of silence. Apparently this time Harry actually had shocked Malfoy speechless. Then his eyes narrowed.

"And why would that make _you _angry? I would have thought you'd agree with them."

Harry sighed and ran his hand through his hair in agitation, making it stick up even more than usual. "It's… well… the war is over. A war I was fighting since I was eleven. A war many people lost their lives to. A war against blind prejudice. I sacrificed a lot to that war, and I guess I'd hoped that after it was over people would try to move past that kind of old bias… It just… it made me angry to see people from my own house continuing the kind of thing I'd fought so hard against."

Once more, silence.

"I don't think that's quite correct, calling it blind prejudice. There are very valid reasons, in both cases."

Shocked, Harry could only stare at Malfoy for a moment. Were they actually having this conversation?

"I thought you weren't into the whole Death Eater thing. I testified that you were coerced into it." Harry couldn't help the slight tone of accusation, but he was wary about where this discussion was going. He honestly didn't want to fight with Malfoy anymore.

Malfoy huffed softly, making his platinum bangs fly up momentarily. "I _was_ coerced into it. I did think that the Dark Lord had legitimate ideas, but he was going about the whole thing wrong and was quite unstable. I agreed with some of the things he preached, but I didn't agree with his hypocrisy and mindless killings."

Harry felt irritation seething inside him. "You agreed with him? So you did think that muggles and muggle-borns should be killed? Malfoy, that's… that's sick."

"No, you're not listening to me. I've already said that I didn't want the murders. I'm not going to try to explain the logic of my side to you when you're clearly not open to listen. Calm down, I can feel your magic from here and you're scaring Hugo."

With a glance at the hedgehog that was presently cowering beneath Malfoy's soothing hand, Harry took a deep breath and tried to push away his anger. He knew that Malfoy wasn't stupid, to the contrary, Harry had learned in the past few weeks that he was quite intelligent and certainly lived up to the Slytherin stereotype of being cunning. Therefore it didn't make sense that Malfoy would believe in something unless it had logical merit. Maybe Harry had become prejudiced himself by the clear divisions between sides and ideals in the war.

"Alright, I'm sorry. I guess I'm being sort of hypocritical myself. Go on."

Malfoy gazed at Harry, evaluating, before nodding once in acceptance of the apology and the promise to remain open minded. It would seem that Malfoy wasn't the only one who'd matured during the war.

"Salazar Slytherin wasn't being paranoid or bigoted at all when he demanded a policy of blood purity. The principle was founded on very real fears. The most vicious witch hunts occurred after his time, in the 14th century, but even in the Founders' time muggles were fearful of and hateful towards witches."

"Wait," interrupted Harry, "but the witch hunts weren't actually dangerous. We learned in History of Magic that the witches had fun pretending to be burned."

"You'll find that the teachings at Hogwarts nowadays are a touch censored against the harsher realities of the persecutions we've faced from muggles. No, wait," said Malfoy, holding up a hand against Harry's sudden indignation, "listen. I have nothing against Hogwart's curriculum; students are always inevitably fed information that is slightly biased. It is simply due to the human nature of the teachers; this isn't the point I'm arguing. I'm simply telling you that there were witches that quite literally burned to death, once the witch hunters figured out that all they had to do was steal the witch's wand and she would be helpless.

"In any case, it's the idea behind it that matters. It is indisputable that muggles hated witches and wizards. I now understand that perhaps their hatred was founded on fear of what they couldn't understand, but that doesn't change the fact that at every given chance muggles tried to eradicate magic. It is also very true that muggles greatly outnumber wizards. In order to protect themselves, wizards had to remain hidden and strong. Marrying muggles and bringing muggle-borns into our world was and is a very dangerous risk. I know that the old idea that having children with muggles dilutes magic is incorrect, but nonetheless if muggles found out about witches and wizards there would be serious detrimental effects."

"But there are tons of muggles that are fine with magic, just look at Hermione's parents. They'd never do anything to hurt her or any other magical people."

"Potter, I should think that you more than anyone would understand how dangerous muggles can be. I know that there are plenty of muggles that would accept wizarding society, but you've witnessed first-hand the blind hatred and fear that is also very possible."

Harry winced and glared at Malfoy. Bringing up his abuse at the hands of the Dursleys was low.

Malfoy ducked his head. "I'm sorry, that was uncalled for. But you can see where I'm coming from. And now more than ever, wizards and witches are vastly outnumbered by muggles. On top of that, the muggles have developed weapons greater than any spells can counter-act in recent years. The small percentage of muggles that feared magic would be more than enough to destroy the wizarding world completely.

"There are other factors, such as maintaining culture and traditions that also contribute greatly to the cause, but the idea of pure-blood supremacy is mainly for self-preservation. That's why it's primarily supported by Slytherins."

There was silence as Harry seriously contemplated Malfoy's words. It was hard for him to try to see from that point of view, and he realized just how much he was probably influenced over the years towards the side of the "light". He was beginning to see now that it wasn't all just "good" against "bad." At the beginning, there had been valid reasons people joined Tom Riddle; he didn't start out by intimidating people to his side.

"I'm not sure if I agree with you, but I think I can see what you're saying," said Harry, "Still, I don't think that pure-blood supremacy would ever really work. At least not peacefully. People will always go against it if they fall in love with muggles. And… besides, wouldn't it be more dangerous, on some levels, to shun muggle-born witches and wizards? If they're left on their own then they wouldn't be able to control their magic, and most likely would expose magic to the muggles. And if the only magic they saw was uncontrolled magic then they'd have every reason to believe it's dangerous."

Malfoy nodded. "That is true. Actually, I agree with you. Pure-blood supremacy would never work modern day. There are simply too many muggle-borns or half-bloods and not enough pure-bloods. If we refused to marry muggles or integrate muggle-borns into our culture then we would die out. But you can see why people followed him; the remaining purebloods were desperate to cling onto their traditions and to remain pure. They saw their society getting horribly corrupted and they saw _him_ as offering a brighter future. I was raised on those principles, and believed it for a long time. But I'm not my father and I've developed my own opinions, and I don't agree with his. I'm just trying to show you the other side of the story. Besides, the Dark Lord was mad and didn't go about it the right way. In the end, he threatened the wizarding world more than the muggles he so hated; the way he was carrying on, it was a miracle the muggles didn't find out and try to annihilate us."

"Ok, so I get the reasons behind the prejudice now, but you can't refute that most of it was just fear and bias in the end."

"A lot of it was, I'll concede that, but there _were _valid reasons behind it." Malfoy was still petting Hugo, and didn't look at Harry when he continued, "Just as Jimmy Peakes and Nigel Wolpert also had valid excuses."

"Wait. Are you seriously defending Gryffindors?"

"No. I agree that they're a pair of gormless gits. But I _was_ a Death Eater, Potter. I did a lot of damage under the name of the Dark Lord. Don't tell me you've suddenly forgotten."

"I haven't forgotten, believe me. I know exactly what you did. But that was in the past, and they weren't _really _your choices. If we keep grudges based simply on people's previous loyalties than the hatred and fear will just continue. It's more complicated than that."

Malfoy didn't respond for a moment, when he did he'd fallen back on his old sarcastic drawl. "I'm impressed, Potter. I didn't think you had enough mind power to recognise the complexities of politics. Aren't Gryffindors supposed to chivalrous? Doesn't that necessitate defining bad guys and good guys?"

Harry scowled. "Oh don't be a prat. Aren't _you _supposed to be past the blind prejudice? I thought that was what you've been telling me for the past half hour."

A moment of tense silence. Then Malfoy sighed. "Alright fine. I'm just slightly shocked that you can apparently demonstrate some Slytherin characteristics too."

"Well… I do have a bit more Slytherin in me than most of Gryffindor," admitted Harry, somewhat sheepishly.

"What the hell does that mean?"

It was Harry's turn to sigh. He ran his hand through his hair again. "The sorting hat wanted to put me in Slytherin, but I asked it to put me in Gryffindor."

"What? And it listened to you? Why?"

"I didn't know anything about the houses, except that Hagrid said that Slytherin was full of dark wizards and that… that you were in Slytherin."

"Wait, you went against the Sorting hat's decision because you didn't want to be in the same house as _me_?"

"And because of what Hagrid had said," muttered Harry. Malfoy was looking indignant.

"Did you really hate me that much?"

Harry looked up at the offended tone. Malfoy wasn't looking at him again, but Harry thought he seemed almost… hurt.

"You were a bully. You reminded me of my cousin, who I hated. You insulted the person who'd taken me away from my relatives, who'd told me that magic exists, and my first real friend. And then you practically demanded I be your friend, which didn't impress me. So yeah, I didn't really like you much."

"I guess I was pretty bratty. But that's how I'd been raised. I was just trying to impress you. You know, I wanted to be friends with you even before I found out who you were—when we first met in Madame Malkins. And then it turned out you were _the _Harry Potter that my father had been telling me I should befriend ever since I could remember. It never occurred to me that you would reject my hand. I hated you so much for humiliating me like that."

It really was quite incredible that they were having this conversation, and not exchanging blows. How did they get from talking about Harry's hedgehog, to discussing pure-blood supremacy, to telling each other why they hated each other? It was odd, and suddenly, strangely, Harry realized that he was enjoying it.

"I don't think I can apologize for that, because I didn't do anything wrong. But for what it's worth, I think I'd like to be your friend now."

Malfoy stared at him. Harry tried to figure out what he was thinking, but the cold Malfoy mask was firmly in place and impenetrable. It was just getting to the point where Harry was about to run his hand through his hair again when Malfoy spoke.

"Isn't that a bit pretentious of you? You rejected my offer in first year, and now you think the offer still stands? Do you think I'll forget the past seven years and welcome you with open arms?"

Harry suddenly inexplicably felt a bit nauseous and affronted. "Of course I don't want you to forget," he retorted sullenly, "but I think you'll agree that we've both done a fair share of injury. I thought we'd moved past that this year, but if—"

"Oh don't get your knickers in a bunch, Potter," snapped Malfoy. "I wasn't done yet. I was just saying, don't think that you have that kind of power over me, because you don't. But—"

"No, wait. I want to do this properly. I'm _not_ responding to your offer from first year, Malfoy, I'm making my own." Harry got up and walked over to stand before Malfoy.

They stared at each other for a moment, Harry's gaze slightly hesitant, but determined, Malfoy's guarded and confused.

"Hi. Draco, right? I'm Harry. Would you like to be friends?"

Draco stared at Harry's extended hand for a moment, his face blank, before meeting Harry's eye, searching for something. Apparently he found it, as he then smiled. It wasn't a full blown smile, just a slight upturning of the corners of his lips, but his grey eyes were warm as he slid his hand into Harry's. They shook on it, and Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy became friends.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** J.K Rowling invented these brilliant children, no matter how much I wish they were mine. Oh, and other people invented the other characters that crop up. Those aren't mine either. *sob*

**A/N: **First off, sorry for the lateness. It's a pretty long chapter though, so forgive me? :)

Second off, I apologize for the other fandoms that leaked in. I couldn't help it. Really. The idea popped into my head and then _refused to leave_. So that's why Draco's… yeah. Sorry.

* * *

**Ameloriate**

**Chapter 3**

It was a couple days before Ron and Hermione found out that Harry and Malfoy were no longer bitter enemies. Ever since that long conversation, Harry and Draco had begun hanging out outside their room. It wasn't often—they didn't eat meals or hang out in the common room together—but they studied together in the library during free periods, and had briefly discussed perhaps going flying together sometime. Hermione and Ron had mainly eyes for each other, as their relationship was still fairly new and exhilarating. Thus they hadn't particularly noticed Harry's absence. In fact, they probably wouldn't have noticed for quite a while longer if it weren't for Harry's slip of tongue and Ron's unusual perceptivity (all the time spent with Hermione was doing him good).

"Ronald Weasley," said Hermione reprovingly. They were in the common room of the eighth year's Tower, where the trio had taken to adjourning to after dinner.

"Yeah?" He sounded defensive, and slightly nervous. Hermione was frightening when she was using that tone of voice.

"The Charms essay that's due tomorrow. Have you finished it?"

"Of course," he replied, but his eyes slid to the right.

"Ron." Her voice was scarily low.

"Er… not quite."

"Have you even started it?"

Ron was suddenly quite interested in a game of exploding snap that was taking place at the other side of the common room. A moment passed. How was it that he could feel her gaze actually _burning _into the side of his head?

"Not… exactly…"

"_Ron!_"

"Well Harry hasn't either!" he cried quickly.

"_Harry!_"

"Hmm?" He'd been staring into the fire and petting Hugo, not paying attention to Ron and Hermione's conversation, assuming it was just another little meaningless argument.

"You haven't started your Charms essay? It's due tomorrow!"

"Actually, I've finished it already," he said breezily, still gazing at the fire.

"_What?_" exclaimed Ron just as Hermione said, "See, Ronald? It's just you!"

"But, how?" continued Ron in disbelief. Harry was always there to back him up against Hermione's frightening obsession with their grades.

"I finished it in the library earlier today," Harry replied.

"Good for you, Harry," said Hermione before turning on Ron. "As for _you_, you are going to sit down and finish that essay right now. Don't you realize how important it is? It's crucial for you to learn this, Ronald, if you want any hope at all in becoming an Auror! Procrastination isn't helping; at this rate you'll never get a job!"

Ron almost visibly wilted under Hermione's harsh berating, and meekly complied, taking out parchment and quill and setting to work.

That was that for the moment, and Harry completely forgot about it. That is, until Ron finished his essay and brought it up again.

"I still don't understand," he whinged after putting down his quill and stretching.

"What don't you understand? I thought you finished the essay!" said Hermione, exasperated.

"No, not that," replied Ron, flapping a hand at her. "I don't understand how on earth Harry managed to finish his essay early and without any prodding from you, 'Mione." He turned to Harry, who'd looked up at his name. "Are you feeling alright, mate? Have you been in to see Pomfrey?"

"Huh? Er…no?"

"Then how'd you finish your essay! And since when have you hung out in the library?"

Harry scratched his head. "I was studying with Draco. He helped me," he said with a shrug.

Ron's mouth fell open and he did a pretty good impersonation of a fish out of water. Harry was taken aback by this reaction, though why he was surprised he didn't know. He suddenly realized that he'd forgotten that he was supposed to hate Malfoy.

"You—what—but—_Draco_?" Ron finally managed to splutter.

"Oh yeah," said Harry sheepishly, playing with Hugo's tiny paws. "Er… did I forget to mention that we're sort of friends now?"

Ron's fish impersonation turned into something akin to fish-that-was-killed-then-ressusitated-then-pulled-out-of-water-again impersonation. Harry waited for him to regain the ability to form sentences.

"_Friends?_"

Harry supposed that one-word sentences were still sentences even if pitiably short.

"Something like that." He chanced a glance up from his hedgehog. Seeing Ron's sufficiently flabbergasted face, he quickly ducked his head back down. "Er, well, you kinda get used to someone after living with them for a while, you know? And then we talked some and… well he's not so bad anymore and we sort of worked out our differences and then I said I wanted to be friends and he was all indignant at first but then he agreed and so—"Harry realized he was rambling and snapped his mouth shut.

There was a tense silence in which Harry hoped Ron wouldn't explode or implode or anything.

"Bloody hell," was all he said and Harry looked up hopefully. Ron was shaking his head, but seemed to otherwise be in one piece. Then his eyes widened dramatically and he groaned, staring at Harry, "Do _we _have to call him _Draco _now too?" He looked horrified at the prospect.

Harry laughed. "No, I'm sure Malfoy's still fine. Just don't be too mean to him anymore, ok?"

"I won't if he isn't," Ron muttered darkly, then, out loud, "Bloody _hell_."

"You already said that," pointed out Harry, amused.

"It's just so… bizarre. Right?" He turned to appeal to Hermione, his pitiful gaze beseeching her to bring sense to the situation.

Hermione nodded, her expression turning from surprised to thoughtful.

"It is quite strange, but it's not completely inexplicable."

Ron's gobsmacked expression returned, though whether it was because he thought Hermione was crazy for not being aptly aghast, or because he didn't know what inexplicable meant was anyone's guess.

"I mean, he wasn't _really _evil in the end, was he?" continued Hermione.

"Exactly!" said Harry, nodding vigorously.

"And they did always have an unhealthy obsession with each other."

Harry paused in his nodding in order to be indignant for a moment. "Hey!"

But now Ron was nodding slowly, his forehead scrunched in a look of extreme pain. Apparently he was trying to wrap his head around the whole idea. "Alright, I guess."

Harry felt a smile growing. "Brilliant!" He hadn't even thought of how Ron and Hermione would react to his new friendship, but he found that he was quite relieved at the general lack of explosion.

Ron returned Harry's grin with a feeble smile of his own that looked more like a grimace than anything else.

"I'm still your best mate though, right?" Ron entreated.

"Of course!" answered Harry. "Malfoy and I may be friends, but he's no match for you."

"Good. Then I guess it's okay. I suppose…" He scrubbed his face with his hands. "I'm gunna go to bed now. If I try to think anymore my head'll explode."

"Well we wouldn't want that to happen," intoned Harry. "Goodnight."

"Night, Ron," said Hermione as Ron heaved himself out of his armchair with a grunt.

"G'night," he mumbled, trudging over towards the stairs leading to the dormitories.

There was a moment of silence as Harry stared after Ron, and felt Hermione staring at him. Ron had reacted surprisingly well, considering his family's eternal hatred of anything Malfoy, but Hermione had her own reasons to hate Draco; he'd called her a mudblood…

"So," she said, conversationally. "Malfoy."

"Er, yep. Malfoy," nodded Harry, poking at Hugo's spikes. The hedgehog huffed; he was getting quite exasperated with all of the handling.

"Harry, well… I guess, I just hope you know what you're doing."

"I think I do," was Harry's wary reply, "I mean, we've talked, seriously, and I… I think I can trust him now."

Hermione gazed at him, calculating, and Harry met her eyes, allowing her to find what she was looking for.

After a moment, she nodded. "Alright. If you say he's changed then I'll believe you. Just, be careful, okay?"

"Yeah, of course," agreed Harry. "He's still Draco Malfoy and still a prat, even if he has matured."

She returned his smile with one of her own, before closing the book forgotten on her lap and getting up.

"Well it is getting quite late. You should go to bed soon, Harry."

"Alright, I'll head up," he said, gathering Hugo. They bade each other goodnight and retired to their rooms.

* * *

"Malfoy, have you seen my transfiguration essay?" It was 8:02 a week later and if they didn't hurry they were going to miss breakfast completely.

"It's over there," said Malfoy, pointing with one hand and frantically adjusting his tie with the other.

"Thanks." Harry hopped over to his bedside table, trying to pull on a sock while reaching behind the lamp for his essay.

"Hurry up," urged Malfoy from the door. Harry stuffed the essay into his bag, slung it over his shoulder and they rushed out, leaving the door to swing shut behind them.

Ron and Hermione were waiting for them in the common room, Ron doing a funny kind of dance and chanting some sort of mantra. Harry could just make out the words "food," and "foooood," before Ron broke off and exclaimed, in his best pitiful whine, "Har_ry_, come _on_ all the bacon's going to be gone by the time we get there!"

"Sorry, sorry, our alarm didn't go off properly," apologized Harry as they made their way out the portrait and towards the great hall.

Ron led the way, dragging Hermione by the arm, with Harry beside him and Malfoy trailing slightly awkwardly behind them.

Since Harry had told Ron and Hermione about his new friendship with Malfoy, Draco had slowly begun to slip into their daily routine. Harry's three friends still weren't on super good terms, but they accepted each other grudgingly and could at least be trusted not to hex each other. Usually.

They reached the great hall and slipped into their seats at the Gryffindor table. Ever since the war, it wasn't uncommon for people to sit at other house's tables, although Draco was the only Slytherin to venture into Gryffindor territory.

"No, no, no, you shouldn't be _that_. _That_'s pathetic! You have come up with something better," Seamus was saying to Dean.

"What? I thought it was a great idea. It's so cliché that it's _not _anymore." Dean replied.

"Whatcha'll talking about?" interjected Ron whilst shoving bacon into his mouth.

"This pillock here," said Seamus, gesticulating wildly at Dean, "thinks he can get away with being a ghost for Halloween. A _ghost_. Tell him it's pathetic, Ronny."

"'At's Pa'etic," nodded Ron around a mouthful of sausage.

"Why are we discussing this again?" Inquired Hermione after swallowing her bite.

"Didn't you hear?" Ginny jumped in. "There's going to be a Halloween ball this year! Costumes mandatory."

Harry had noticed the leaves turning colour, but he hadn't realized that Halloween was, in fact, just a week away.

"Ooh, really? That sounds like fun. So have you decided what you're going to be then?"

"I have," answered Ginny with a grin, "but it's a surprise. More importantly, we should figure out what you guys are going to be! Harry, d'you have any ideas yet?"

"I don't know about myself," replied Harry, "but I think Hermione should be a cat."

Ron snorted, just barely in time to avoid spraying them all with pumpkin juice. Hermione scowled and glared at Harry.

"Oh ha ha, very funny, Harry."

"You poke fun now," drawled Draco, "but I'll bet that come Halloween we'll see a bunch of little Harry Potters running about. Kids do like to dress up as superheroes, right?"

Draco cackled at Harry's sudden expression of horror. Harry elbowed him in the ribs.

"Hold up! I know exactly what Malfoy should be!" called out Ron. "A ferret!"

That proclamation resulted in the Gryffindors erupting in laughter while Draco crossed his arms and huffed, sticking his nose in the air haughtily. The slight twitch of his lips betrayed him to Harry, however.

"Oh, speaking of Halloween and such," said Hermione as the laughter died down. "I've a couple more books for you, Draco. I'll give them to you at lunch."

Malfoy nodded as he placed a carefully cut piece of pancake into his mouth. Surprisingly, Draco had shown an interest in muggle literature after he caught Hermione reading Jane Eyre one evening in the common room. Hermione had immediately taken it upon herself to show him all of the classics along with her favourite, more modern works. In the last couple of days, whenever Harry glanced over to Draco's side of the room he always had his nose stuck in some book or other. It actually contributed quite a bit to smoothing over his truce with Hermione and Ron, as he was too entranced by fiction to find much time to insult them. For the most part, Harry just found it all quite amusing. Who'd have ever thought that he'd see the day when Draco Malfoy would rather read the Lord of the Rings than mock Harry's friends?

Over the next few days, Harry tried desperately to come up with something to be for Halloween. For the life of him, he couldn't think of anything. He wanted it to be clever and interesting, but all that came to mind when he thought of Halloween costumes were the cliché witch/wizard, ghost, or pumpkin, none of which he found particularly witty.

And of course, when he asked Ron, his best friend said that he already knew what he was doing. Although, for some reason, he still didn't know who he was dressing up as. Apparently Hermione had briskly decided it herself, and Ron was just going along. So Ron was all set, without even having to think about it. It was unfair, really.

For a while Harry consoled himself with the thought that Draco, at least, couldn't possibly know what his costume was yet, but that bubble was quickly popped on Sunday evening.

* * *

"Kreacher," called Harry to the air. With a pop, the house elf materialized in their room. Harry'd been balancing on the back two legs of his chair, his feet propped on his desk, but he let the front legs fall with a loud thud that earned him a glare from the other side of the room.

"Yes, master Harry Potter sir?" squeaked the elf.

"Could you get me some tea, please?"

"As you wish, sir. Would sir like the usual milk and sugar mixed in?"

"Nah that's alright; can you just bring up the whole tray?"

"Yes, sir." And the elf disappeared with another pop.

In the interim, Harry picked up his quill and twirled it in his fingers. Whenever Draco was concentrating on a homework problem, or bored in class, he would absently do this spinny thing with his quill. Harry'd been trying to learn how to do it, but so far he'd just managed to drop his quill a lot. He furrowed his brow and tried to place the pencil perfectly in his hand and gave it a flick with his thumb and middle figure.

Kreacher reappeared with another crack and set the tray of tea things on a clear part of Harry's desk. Which was quite an achievement, considering the mess of parchment that Harry maintained, much to the disdain of his roommate.

Harry bent under the desk to retrieve his dropped quill before emerging and thanking Kreacher who, with a nod, swiftly returned to the kitchens.

The tray, much to Harry's satisfaction, contained a pot of hot water, a teacup and saucer, an assortment of teabags, a jar of sugar and a small jug of milk. Harry spent five minutes carefully looking over the teabags and finally deciding on a nice, soothing rose. He put the teabag in the teapot and then spent five minutes alternately attempting to twirl his quill and petting Hugo whilst letting the tea steep. Once he'd deemed it strong enough, he removed the teabag and delicately poured himself a cuppa, making sure the stream of tea from pot to cup was a perfect, thin, line. He then judiciously measured out three perfect spoonful's of sugar and a good amount of milk before proceeding to stir his tea for another two minutes. After which, he deftly blew on the tea to cool it down before taking a couple of dainty sips, waiting a moment, then taking a couple more.

It was 10:00 Sunday night, there was a potions essay due tomorrow, and Harry _really _didn't want to work on it.

About halfway through the cup, his nose emerged from the fragrant steam to detect something decidedly acerbic in nature. Vaguely alarmed, Harry looked around to find the source of the smell, only to see Draco sitting at his desk, his brow furrowed in concentration as he bent his head over his left hand, the fingers of which were splayed on the clutter-free wood. _Painting his nails._

Harry blinked once, twice, and wondered if the steam from his tea had fogged up his glasses more than he thought it had.

"Draco." He said. "What the _hell _are you doing?"

Without looking up or changing his intense facial expression he replied, "What does it look like I'm doing?"

"Er… well it looks like you're painting your nails…. _You're painting your nails_," the reiteration was more of a shocked statement as the fog on Harry's glasses dispersed and he saw clearly that Malfoy was, in fact, painting his nails. "Why on earth are you painting your nails?"

Draco spared a moment to roll his eyes before finishing one stroke of the tiny brush with a flourish and holding his newly finished nails up for inspection. Harry was slightly relieved to see that they hadn't changed colour, merely gained a coat of shiny polish.

"For my Halloween costume, of course," he said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Oh. Right," said Harry somewhat weakly. "Wait, your costume involves you painting your nails? What are you being, exactly?"

Draco tsked and shook his head before looking at Harry in disdain. "That is a _surprise_, Potter. Honestly, did you think I would just _tell _you?"

"A surprise. Right." Harry raised an eyebrow. "You aren't planning on dressing up as a girl, are you? Because, I mean, I know that some people do that and, really, I don't have any issues with it or anything. I won't judge you at all, in fact I wouldn't even be all that surprised—"

"Oh shut up, Potter," huffed Malfoy. He continued over Harry's snickers, a bit snootily, "I'll have you know that the person I'm imitating is the epitome of masculinity, he just happens to have shiny nails. It's for _authenticity, _Potter. I don't expect someone like you to understand it."

"Of course, of course," said Harry, laughing fully now.

Malfoy sniffed and glared at Harry, and although his voice was cool, Harry could see the glint of amusement in his eyes. "Well then, oh Chosen Scarface, I'll assume that since you have the gall to mock me, you've already decided on your costume and have it all planned out? It's only five days until the dance after all, surely the Boy Who Wouldn't Bloody Die Already is fully prepared?"

Harry's automatic scowl suddenly turned into a grin. "That's it! Aw, that's brilliant! I know exactly what I'm going to be now." He was veritably bouncing in his seat and in his excitement twirled his quill all the way under his bed.

When he emerged from beneath his four-poster, it was to see Draco's raised eyebrow and amused smirk.

"Oh shut up," said Harry, blushing slightly. "Why don't you make yourself useful and come help me with this ruddy potions essay?"

Draco shrugged and pulled his chair over to Harry's desk to comply. He instructed Harry in the delicate science of potions for the rest of the evening, while being very careful not to mess up his newly perfected nails.

* * *

The next five days Harry spent the majority of in the company of Luna Lovegood, who was for some inexplicable reason the local expert on the creature Harry'd decided to become on Friday. Although, after thinking about it, perhaps it wasn't so inexplicable. Actually, it matched her track record rather well, fitting right in with thestrals and all. In any case, he spent his free time working with her to design and create his costume. She was really quite adept at sewing, as she made a lot of her own clothing, and by Thursday evening Harry was quite happy with his outfit.

Draco continued to work on his costume as well, although in different ways. He spent a suspicious amount of time in the potions lab, but Harry knew better than to ask.

* * *

Friday afternoon was soon upon them, and Harry went to his room after his last class to get ready for the party. As he set down his book bag, he felt that he could smell a slightly burnt scent. He noted that the bathroom door was ajar, the light on within, and, curious, he walked over to see what on earth Draco was doing.

He didn't expect to see his previously fairly short haired friend standing in front of the mirror with tresses that now ran past his shoulders. Well, the strands that were still straight did. A large amount of his hair (which at least was still platinum blond) was rather curly. Draco turned when Harry stopped in the bathroom doorway, and Harry saw that he wielded a curling iron.

"You know, I really don't know why I'm surprised," he said conversationally. "I should have seen this coming, after the whole nail painting business." He shook his head and sighed. "Of course a hair-growing potion and curling iron were the next logical steps. Draco, really, should we talk about this? I told you I wouldn't judge."

Draco brandished the hot iron at him and Harry took a startled step back.

"It's for authenticity, Potter! Authenticity!" He heaved an exaggerated sigh and glanced at Harry with mock pity in his eyes, even as he wrapped a strand of hair around the iron and let it sit. "I'm sorry. I get what's happening here: with that face of yours of course you would want to deny that I'm stunning, and you know it."

"Right, right. You know what? I'm just going to get Hugo and go over to Ravenclaw and get ready myself. Let me know if you need any help putting on make-up or anything, ok?" Harry sidled out of the bathroom, snickering. He was quite curious as to whom on earth Draco was dressing up as, but for the moment he had more pressing matters.

When he stepped into the Ravenclaw common room ("At night they come without being fetched, by day they are lost without being stolen"—"Stars") Luna was waiting for him and looking quite excited. Which meant that she was standing serenely, a twinkle in her eye.

Harry followed her up to the seventh year girl's dorms (there weren't any sliding stairs: apparently Ravenclaw boys knew better) and allowed her to fuss over him for about half an hour. At the end of it, he was dressed in greyish rags that closely resembled the "school uniforms" that Petunia had dyed for him before they knew he was going to Hogwarts. He'd teased Draco about make-up, but he really had no right to talk, as he was now almost completely painted over in a sickly, pallid green. Luna had done a wonderful job of constructing very convincing fake-wounds. He had a large bloody gash on one forearm and imitation blood dripping from a cut on his cheek. Then there was the myriad of older, rotting cuts crisscrossing his green skin. His crazy runaway hair actually suited the rest of him, for once.

Hugo was also dressed up: Luna had somehow managed to get him to look like a little brain.

After a quick inspection in the floor-length mirror that hung on Luna's wall, Harry grinned. In his opinion, he finally looked befittingly like The Boy Who Died and Came Back to Life.

He turned around to apprise Luna, whose present attire would probably be the most shocking of anyone's costumes at the party tonight. She was wearing a plain white blouse and normal, faded jeans. Her hair was in a tame braid down her back, and she wasn't wearing any jewellery, _at all_. It was quite odd to see her looking so incredibly ordinary.

"Ready?" he asked. She nodded and they left for the Great Hall.

As they neared the large double doors, Harry could feel himself buzzing with curiosity. When they stepped in, he saw that the party was already under way.

The Hall was set up like it had been for the Yule Ball, with the tables at the edges of the room, a band playing in one corner. Instead of icy, Christmas decorations, however, it was adorned with giant pumpkins the size of Hagrid near the door, more jack-o-lanterns floating in the air, and streamers of orange and black. As Harry looked around for his friends, a swarm of chattering bats swooped past his head.

He finally spotted them over by the food: Ron, Hermione, and Draco. As he made his way through the crowd to them, he tried to figure out their costumes.

Ron and Hermione were in some sort of period garb; with Ron in a 19th century English suit, his hair shockingly _not red _but rather a dark brown, and Hermione in an elaborate dress that looked like it probably involved a corset. Harry had no idea who they were supposed to be.

Turning his eyes to Draco, he was still confused. His roommate's clothes looked even older then Ron and Hermione's. Maybe like…

"18th century Paris," said Draco.

Ah. The extravagant coat and waistcoat embroidered with golden thread covered matching breeches that ended at the knee to become white tights (or socks? Harry didn't know) and then well buckled shoes, the heels of which were higher than Hermione's. The whole ensemble seemed to fit Draco very well, and for some reason Harry's mouth was suddenly a bit dry. He swallowed and turned his mind to figuring out what Draco was dressed as. So, he was wearing eighteenth century Parisan clothing, and looked _very _aristocratic. Put that together with the paler-than-usual skin, the longer, curled hair, the shiny nails and you got… Harry had no idea. Then Draco grinned at him and he saw the fangs.

"You're a vampire," he said, blinking.  
"Not just _any _vampire," Draco replied haughtily. "I'm _the _vampire."

"Dracula?"

"No you great clot. A vampire much more distinguished than that pathetic mongrel, and almost as lovely as myself."

Harry snorted.

Draco considered him, his eyes full of amused disdain. "And I suppose you're a zombie. Oh bravo, very clever. The Boy Who Came Back To Life, huh? You're a riot. And, oh, god, did you dress your hedgehog up as a _brain_?"

"So," said Harry loudly, turning his back to Draco and facing his two _best friends_. "What're you guys?"

"'M Darby," said Ron around the crumpet in his mouth. Hermione jabbed him in the ribs.

"_Darcy_," she corrected, "He's Mr. Darcy. And I'm Lizzie Bennet."

"Right, of course. How come I didn't guess that?"

"From _Pride and Prejudice_," continued Hermione.

"Yup," said Harry blithely. "Oh, hey, look, people!" And he rushed off to go greet Ginny, who appeared to be some famous Quidditch player, and Seamus and Dean who were also in period attire. Seriously, what was _with _people? At least Seamus's dear-stalker hat, pipe, and magnifying glass made him quite obvious. Although his loud laughter and strong Irish accent somewhat destroyed the image of cold intellect.

The rest of the evening was passed in admiring everyone's costumes and consuming inordinate amounts of treats. At some point, the music really began to blast and the people filling the floor began to writhe with the beat. This was the moment where Harry took to the side lines and plopped down in a spider web-draped chair. He'd had enough dancing during the Yule Ball, thank you very much.

Besides, observing the people on the dance floor was just as entertaining, if not more so, than being there himself. There was one particularly hilarious moment when Professor Trelawney (some sort of glittery bug?) asked Snape (Harry had decided that he had dressed up as a bat: he was wearing the same thing he wore every day) to dance. For a few moments, Snape resembled the jack-o-lantern floating above his head whose mouth was carved as a wide circle. Then he pursed his lips together so hard it was as if he was trying to compress stone to diamond. With a sort of jerky motion, he turned resolutely away from her, apparently thinking that if he ignored the problem it would go away. But Trelawney just hovered around him, glittering in his face, and Mcgonagall (er… some sort of scholar? Harry was sure Hermione would know who the Headmistress was supposed to be) kept shooting him reproving glances that clearly demanded he be polite.

So with a great sigh like a hot air balloon—the type that carries people in the sky—deflating, he stiffly thrust his arm out for the divination professor and followed her onto the floor, evidently resigned to dancing with her for the minimum one song that decorum required of him. Only, Professor Trelawney didn't _dance_ really, at least not in any sense of the word known to anyone with an iota of sense. Rather, she dragged Snape in a series of strange skipping, spasmodic, then smooth, wriggly motions. Harry and Ron (who'd joined him for a short break), sitting at a perfect vantage point for viewing their least favourite teacher's torture, were bent double, tears leaking form their eyes, guffawing.

That was the high point of the dance. The low, however, came about an hour later.

The party was winding down; more people had retired to the chairs and the music had become less pounding and more subdued. Draco had joined Harry at a small table he'd claimed once Ron had run off with Hermione, and they were lounging around with Hugo shuffling about on the table between them as they sipped from glances of sparkling pumpkin juice. Harry looked down at his suspiciously after a couple sips that didn't taste _quite _like 100% pure pumpkin juice. He turned his eyes to roam the hall, looking to see if Seamus had any suspicious flasks on him. His eyes didn't find Seamus or Dean, but instead landed on his potions professor who was getting up from the staff table, apparently just leaving. For a moment their eyes met, and Harry was taken aback by the soft grief that was simmering in Snape's eyes before the potions master turned and left. It was with a jolt that Harry recalled what else had happened on Halloween. He felt a shiver run through him. How on earth could he have forgotten?

All of a sudden, Harry felt inexplicably cold. The Great Hall seemed to lose its festive atmosphere. He got up, setting down the flute of probably-spiked-pumpkin juice and picking up his hedgehog.

"Where're you going?"

Harry looked over at Draco, his mind blank for a moment.

"I'm getting tired," he replied, "I think I'm going to call it a night."

Draco shrugged and sipped from his glass. "Alright. I'll see you later then?"

"Yeah. Night."

"Goodnight."

Harry all but fled the scene. His stomach clenched unpleasantly. He probably really should just go to sleep. When he got back to the room he set Hugo down, summarily stripped off the rags and stepped into the shower, closing his eyes and letting the hot water wash away the green and red paint. After a couple minutes he sighed and went about actively scrubbing himself off. It was seventeen years ago already, but he didn't think he'd ever really get over his parents' death.

His mind swirling with unpleasant memories, Harry pulled on flannel pants and a T-shirt and climbed into bed. The night had been fun; it was too bad that it would end on such a sombre note. Harry tried to relax and let his mind drift. Hopefully it would all look better in the morning.

* * *

When Harry next awoke, however, it wasn't to the clear light of day but rather a Draco Malfoy leaning over him. Draco had a scowl on his face, but Harry could see concern in his eyes. It was an odd thing to see.

"You were having a nightmare," he said softly when he saw that Harry was awake. He was sitting on the edge of Harry's bed and had been leaning over him, gripping his shoulders. Presently he sat back, although he didn't move to his own bed. Absently, Harry noticed that his hair still hung past his shoulders although the curls had become rather limp.

"Your hair is still long," he said.

"Really? I hadn't noticed," was Draco's immediate retort. He sighed. "The hair-growing potion hasn't worn off yet. It should by the morning, though."

"What time is it?"

He cast a quick _tempus_. "2:47. You were having a nightmare."

"You already said that."

"I know. You didn't acknowledge it the first time. I felt the need to reiterate."

Draco tucked a strand of blond hair behind his ear as he spoke. The action looked unconscious, automatic. Harry squirmed a bit, suddenly realizing he was soaked in sweat.

"Well. Thanks for waking me up."

"No problem. Do you…" he hesitated, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really." Harry didn't even remember the dream much. Just that it had been frightening and upsetting. "Just old memories, you know?"

He felt Draco's measuring gaze for a moment before his roommate nodded slowly.

"Alright. Then… I'll just go back to sleep? Um, if you need anything, you know… um."

Harry didn't think he'd ever seen Draco Malfoy look so awkward. He almost smiled.

"Yeah, okay. I'm fine, really," said Harry quickly before Draco hurt himself. "Goodnight."

"Right. Goodnight." Looking somewhat relieved, Draco went back to his bed.

Harry cast a quick _scourgify _on his sheets and pyjamas before turning over and shutting his eyes once more. He felt uneasy again as he drifted off to sleep, although for whole new reasons. His stomach had flipped in an uncomfortably familiar way just then, and the implications were simply unthinkable. Harry squeezed his eyelids even tighter and firmly jettisoned such unpleasant thoughts from his mind. It was probably nothing, just a residual nausea from his nightmare.

* * *

**A/N**: I feel like all of my chapters end with Harry falling asleep. I really should stop that.

Did anyone figure out who Draco is? I feel like it's blaringly obvious. Again, sorry. But I love them both so much and hrrnnggg ok I'm just going to stop now. Bye.

Comments are loved. :]


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **These children aren't mine. I don't have custody of them, I just baby sit from time to time. But I'm not paid for it. Unfortunately.

**A/N:** ...I don't even know what I'm writing anymore.

**Ameloriate**

**Chapter 4**

"Harry, seriously, stop procrastinating," said Draco from his desk.

Harry paused in the stirring of his cup of tea. "I'm not procrastinating. I'm just making some tea. I'm thirsty, okay?"

Draco raised an eyebrow. "That's your third cup, Potter. In about half as many hours. Well, suit yourself. If you fail out of Hogwarts then I suppose I'll have the whole room to myself. My, it _would_ be a relief not to have to deal with you stinking up the place anymore."

With Halloween over, the students were suddenly faced with the reality of upcoming midterms. It was Saturday afternoon and Harry's first test was on Monday: History of Magic. He and Draco had been studying with Ron and Hermione in the library, but after lunch Draco had sequestered them away to their dorm, claiming that Ron's bright hair was distracting him. In reality, it was probably the couple's constant bickering. That and the fact that it was still a bit tense, having the four of them in such close proximity. Harry had quickly calmed Ron's immediate indignation before making up an excuse (something about Hugo needing to be fed, or some such) to follow Draco back to the Tower.

So now they were studying in their room. Well, Draco was studying. Harry was… taking a break. Indefinitely.

He ignored Draco's insult, choosing instead to say, "Hey, can you teach me that spinny thing?"

Draco looked at him a touch pityingly, as if he were thinking that it was such a shame that Harry'd finally cracked. "What on earth are you talking about?"

"You know, that thing you do with your quill."

"Oh," said Draco, "You mean this?" He balanced his wrist on his desk, quill in hand, and twirled it around once.

"Yeah!" said Harry, jabbing a finger at him, "That's it! How do you do it?"

Draco gave him a withering look. "Harry. Honestly. I really don't give a shit whether you ever graduate or not. But I sort of feel like _you_ might."

Sighing, Harry set down the quill that he'd been fiddling with. "Oh, fine then. I don't even know what to study, though."

"History of Magic, obviously," was Draco's answer, accompanied by a roll of his eyes.

"Well yeah, but History of Magic is like, well there's a lot of it, you know?"

His roommate and sort-of friend closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Have you reviewed the textbook yet?"

"Er… we have a textbook?"

Draco resisted the urge to bang his head on his desk, instead opting for a nice, hard face-palm. "Where exactly have you been for the past six years?"

"I was sort of… fighting a war. But if you mean in History of Magic, then I was asleep."

"Did you even pass your O.W.L?"

"Er… no. But then again, I sort of fell asleep during the exam and then had a vision about Voldemort so… it's not totally my fault!"

"Right." He sighed. "Start by reading through the textbook. You should have it; if you don't you can borrow mine, I suppose. Although goodness knows what good it'll do you at this point. I think you'll just have to resign yourself to the idea of repeating seventh year… _again_." Draco shook his head in mock sadness. "You know, when I'm off living on my own and working as Minister for Magic, I'll really miss… Hugo. A lot."

Harry glared at him. Then with a "hmph!" turned to find his History of Magic textbook.

He read the same sentence ten times without really seeing it. Although he'd never admit it to Malfoy, in reality making tea was more productive than trying to study as he knew that he'd never be able to concentrate. Not feeling the way he was right then, at least. Halloween had left a bitter taste in his mouth and an uncomfortable lump in his chest. It wasn't that he'd forgotten all of the deaths, but he'd definitely spent the past couple of months more insouciantly than he thought he should have. He'd been caught up in the feeling of relief that he no longer had Voldemort looming over him, and he hadn't wanted to dwell on the sacrifices made for that relief. In fact, he still didn't want to confront it, so he spent the time before midterms feeling out of sorts but refusing to think it through. He'd begun to cast silencing charms on his bed before he went to sleep each night, as he was once more having nightmares and didn't wish to bother Draco. He hadn't gotten much by way of sleep this past week, and consequently his concentration was effectively shot.

Come Monday, Harry didn't know much more about History of Magic than he had first year. He couldn't particularly bring himself to care; he'd had another nightmare and he was simply too tired to be worried about his grades. Draco glanced at him, a frown of worry on his face, and Harry gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile. He'd been acting normally, hoping that if he pretended he felt fine then somehow his mind and heart would believe it, but he'd often felt his roommate staring at him suspiciously nonetheless.

It was Thursday evening and Harry was feeling a mixture of relief and horrible anxiety. Tomorrow was his last midterm, but it was also the one he was most worried about. Potions.

"Do you think we'll have to know the properties of shrivel figs?" He asked as he stared at his textbook, one hand worrying his quill, the other buried in his hair.

"No," was Draco's reply. "Why are you so worried about this one, anyway? I thought you hated potions."

"I do."

"Then why are you studying so hard? You just need an A to get into Auror training, right?"

Harry bit his lip. The truth was, he'd been having doubts about the whole Auror thing.

"I don't know if I want to be an Auror anymore."

"What?"

"I mean I'm not _sure_," said Harry, leaning back in his chair. "But I think I've had enough of fighting the bad guys. I don't know. I haven't really thought about it _that _much. It's just. You know."

"Okay…" said Draco slowly. "Well then what do you want to do instead? You obviously have something in mind; otherwise you wouldn't be so frantic about potions."

Harry tugged at his bangs. "Er… I was thinking, maybe… well I was stuck in the hospital wing for a while after the last battle, right?"

"You were?"

"Well I wasn't really hurt much, but they wanted to keep me for supervision since I sort of but not really died. Anyway, I was there for a while with nothing better to do than watch Madame Pomfrey work, and well, it looked interesting."

"You want to be a healer?"

"Erm. I'm thinking about it. Maybe?"

Draco opened his mouth and then closed it and then opened it again. "I guess it makes sense."

"You think?"

He shrugged. "Yeah. You won't be fighting the bad guys, but I think you'd go crazy if you weren't helping people. If you were a healer you could still appease your saving-people thing."

Harry scratched at his head. "I suppose if you look at it that way… But in any case, I need an O in potions first. At this rate, I'll be lucky to get an A."

"This is true," said Draco, nodding. "Alright."

"Alright what?"

"I'll help you. Come on, let's continue reviewing. What else don't you get?"

Harry stared at him for a moment. It was common for Draco to help him with his potions work, but this was something else. Harry knew that his roommate had his own exams to study for; he had Arithmancy after Potions. That he would be willing to give up his own study time to help Harry… but Harry wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"Er..." He looked back at his textbook. "Does the Dragon blood react with the beetle eyes or is it the gecko hearts?"

"It reacts with the gecko hearts but the beetle eyes suppress the volatility of it," answered Draco. They continued like that until around midnight when Draco convinced Harry that he would do best to get some sleep. Harry was feeling much better about his potions final, but Halloween was still hanging over him a bit and it was with trepidation that he crawled under his covers.

* * *

As they waited for Snape to enter the room, Harry rubbed his clammy hands on his robe. He was nervous and exhausted, but feeling a bit hopeful. Draco had really helped a lot last night, and Harry thought he had at least some understanding of the subject. Hopefully enough to get him an O.

Snape swooped into the room and swept his wand over the blackboard, making instructions appear in his thin, spiky scrawl. The first part of the exam was a practical. They would be attempting to brew a complex shrinking potion from memory and would try it out on their pets at the end of the class. Harry'd brought Hugo, and left the hedgehog on his desk as he went to go get ingredients.

As he worked he had to keep pushing Hugo away from his ingredients, as the little hedgehog was apparently quite curious. Despite the distraction Harry thought that his potion was going rather well. It had turned the perfect shade of teal after he'd stirred it counter-clockwise four and a half times, and was now bubbling pleasantly. He might have zero natural ability at potions, but he was lucky enough to have a roommate with a passion for the subject, so he was actually improving quite a lot.

Two hours later, he set down the glass stirring rod and turned off the Bunsen burner, thoroughly pleased with himself. The potion looked exactly as it should: it was shining a transparent violet and was a completely smooth consistency. Now he just had to wait his turn to test it out.

He watched as Neville's toad, Trevor, turned a funny yellow colour and then shrunk a tiny amount. Hermione'd had more success, as Crookshanks shrunk down to a tiny kitten-sized cat. A couple more students went, and then it was Harry's turn. He gathered up Hugo and the potion and stood. As he made his way to the front of the room he suddenly felt slightly light-headed. He'd stood up too quickly, and combined with his lack of sleep it had given him an abrupt dizzy spell. He stumbled. Hugo chose that moment to wriggle out of his slackened grip and, in the scramble to catch his hedgehog, Harry managed to drop the vial of potion and fall at the same time. He hit the ground, banging his knee painfully, but that was hardly his biggest concern as he felt a distinct wetness drip from his hair down the back of his neck.

_Shit shit shit,_ he thought, and then the classroom was growing at an alarming rate and he saw his classmates staring at him in horror. A moment later the classroom was engulfed in a shocked silence, everyone staring at the pile of robes that had just held Harry Potter. The only thing that disturbed the scene was Hugo, who had fallen on top of the clothes with a small huff and was now shuffling around, apparently ignorant of the tense atmosphere in the room. Even Snape was shocked into silence for the moment.

Then a small voice came from the bundle on the ground. It was definitely still Harry's voice, just rather quiet, but even still it resonated in the silence.

"Bugger."

The robes started wriggling and then Harry spoke again. "Bugger. I'm stuck."

The frozen-ness of the class was broken with Draco's snort of laughter. He got up and knelt next to the pile of clothes, then began sifting through them. A tiny head of horribly messy black hair popped out, and pale skin was exposed for a second before Harry uttered a quite unmanly squeak and dived back into his clothes.

"Potter," said Snape, apparently having snapped out of his shock. "Get out of those robes this instant. We will have to go see the Headmistress about this."

"Wait wait wait!" cried Harry. His voice was a touch louder than a typical whisper. "Can't you shrink my clothes first or something?"

Snape scowled but acquiesced with a quick flick of his wand. Harry quickly pulled on his tiny clothes, hoping that Draco's body shielded him from most of his classmate's gazes. He didn't even want to think about Draco seeing him naked. Face burning, he stood and turned to Snape.

"Come along," he ordered, "You too, Draco, seeing as you're roomed with the pathetic excuse for a boy. As for the rest of you, those who haven't had their potions tested leave the vials on my desk. The written exam will have to be rescheduled; you can thank your hero for that." The class groaned as Snape swept out.

Draco stood and took a step forward, before pausing and looking down. Harry'd had to run to catch up with his single step. Smirking, Draco bent down and scooped Harry up, ignoring his protests. With his roommate in hand, he followed Snape out the door.

As they walked through the hallways, Harry clung to Draco's hand, his own tiny hands not even bigger than the tip of Draco's fingers. It was quite strange, sitting in his palm, held up against the fabric of his shirt. On all sides he was surrounded by a distinct Draco-ness, and he could smell a mixture of jasmine soap, lemon, and something else that was unique to Draco.

Soon enough, they were standing in front of the Gargoyle and Snape barked the password before ushering them onto the stairs. When they entered the office, Mcgonagall was sitting behind the great mahogany desk, a rather plain quill in her hand. She looked at them over the rim of her glasses, one eyebrow raised.

"And what is it, Severus? Has Draco disturbed your potions class? I somehow find that quite unlikely."

"It wasn't Draco, Minerva. As usual, it was Potter."

Mcgonagall's eyebrow lifted even higher. Draco uncurled his hand to reveal the kneeling Harry. The headmistress's other eyebrow raised to join its brother somewhere near her hairline.

"Oh my," she said. "Mr Potter. What on Earth have you done now?"

"It wasn't my fault!" said Harry rather sullenly. "I tripped is all. And then I spilled the potion on myself. It was supposed to be for—" he gasped a tiny gasp, "Where's Hugo?"

"Don't worry," smirked Draco, "I've got him." He pulled the hedgehog out of his pocket where he'd placed him as Harry'd dressed. Harry stared wide-eyed at his pet that was now bigger than him. Hugo blinked.

"Well, Severus? Why didn't you give him the antidote?"

"It wouldn't have worked," was Snape's snapped reply. "The imbecile _spilled _the potion on himself. It is supposed to be ingested, and, more pressingly, it is meant for animals. What makes it a difficult potion is its selectiveness."

"I see," said Mcgonagall. "Well then, there's nothing to be done but to wait for it to wear off, correct?" Snape nodded. She sighed. "Alright. Mr Potter, am I correct in assuming that you will not be able to function normally in your present state?"

"I can function perfectly fine!"

Draco mused that it was a wonder Mcgonagall's eyebrow hadn't gotten stuck up in her hairline already.

"Really? You can walk to classes and take notes yourself? Mr Potter, do not be difficult. For the next week or so until you return to normal, I'm afraid you will have to remain with Mr Malfoy at all times." She turned her piercing gaze to Draco. "Mr Malfoy, I take it you will have no objections to aiding Harry for the next week?" Her tone brooked no room for argument, not that Draco would have argued. He nodded. "Good. We will make the schedule adjustments and inform you of them at dinner. For now, continue with your normal classes."

"Yes, headmistress," intoned Draco.

"Er," said Harry somewhat hesitantly.

"Yes?"

He turned to Snape. "Sir? What about my grade?"

"What about it, Potter? I'm sure you know that you failed this exam."

Harry squeaked again. "But—but—my potion was fine! I just tripped!"

"Severus," interjected Mcgonagall. "Perhaps it would be more prudent for Mr Potter to redo the practical exam, seeing as he wasn't able to complete it?"

Snape scowled but he couldn't very well argue with the headmistress. "Fine. I'll have to consult my schedule."

Mcgonagall nodded. "Very well, that's settled then." She turned to Draco and Harry. "If that is all…" they nodded, "then you two are dismissed."

"Thank you, professor," said Draco. He once more curled his fingers around Harry and turned to leave.

As they made their way down the stairs, Draco brought Harry up to his eyelevel, a smirk marring his features.

"This is hilarious. The great defeater of the Dark Lord reduced to a teeny tiny Harry. How small do you think you are? I'd say around… ten centimetres?" He laughed.

Harry felt himself smile a little bit. He leant his head on the wall that was Draco's fingers.

"It'll be annoying to have to carry you around all the time, though," remarked Draco. Harry's his small smile faltered. "How about this?" Draco slipped Harry into his breast pocket. Harry was a bit surprised to be suddenly surrounded by white fabric. He tried to stand up, which was quite difficult as Draco was still walking, but he managed by holding onto the rim. Peeking out, he saw Draco glance down at him, still grinning. "Comfortable?" he asked. Harry nodded. "Good. Well I've got Arithmancy next, so you can just hang out in there I suppose." Harry nodded again before slipping down to the bottom of the pocket.

As Draco walked to his class on the fourth floor, Harry felt himself relaxing for the first time in a while. The rocking motion was soothing, and he really was quite exhausted. Soon enough, he closed his eyes and slipped off to a thankfully dreamless sleep.

* * *

At lunchtime Draco plopped down next to Hermione and Ron, stretching his back. The Ancient Runes midterm had been difficult, but he thought that he'd gotten almost everything right. It was a relief that it was over; this was the last day of exams and he didn't have one in the afternoon, so he was pretty much home free. It was quite lucky, really, as it meant that Harry wouldn't have to make up any other midterms besides potions.

Speaking of, Harry hadn't moved or said anything since before Ancient Runes. "Harry," said Draco, addressing his shirt.

"Yeah, Harry," said Ron, sliding into the booth across from him, Hermione at his side. "What've you done to him?"

Draco scowled. _He _hadn't done anything.

"What happened after potions?" Asked Hermione. She'd been there, so she knew that Harry'd been shrunk. Presumably she'd told the Weasel as well.

"The potion wasn't meant to be used on humans topically," Draco answered, poking his pocket. "He'll just have to wait until it wears off. Mcgonagall said he was to stay with me until that happened, since he can't do anything on his own."

"Hey," said Weasley, indignant on his best mate's behalf, "Harry is perfectly fine on his own. Where is he anyways?"

"Right here," said Draco, poking at his pocket again. It wriggled a bit, but otherwise there was no response.

"In your pocket?" The Weasel sounded offended. "You're making him sit in your _pocket_? What've you done to him, anyway? How come he isn't responding? Hey, Harry, mate! Has the ferret tortured you too much?"

Draco glared at the offending ginger. He reached his hand into his pocket and gingerly scooped out Harry who curled up and turned his tiny face into Draco's palm.

"He's asleep, you idjit," scowled Draco.

Ron's eyes widened dramatically. "Merlin, he really _is _tiny!"

At that, Harry stirred and sat up slowly, pushing up his glasses as he rubbed his eyes.

"Ron?" he said blearily.

"You've always been short, mate, but I think you may actually have shrunk."

"Oh har har," replied Harry. He stumbled a bit as Draco tilted his hand to deposit his little roommate on the table top. Harry looked around him at the food that was now as big as him, feeling a bit lost.

"Here," sighed Draco, ripping off tiny bits of his chicken and putting it in front of Harry.

The rest of dinner was spent mainly in silence on Draco and Harry's part as Hermione and Ron bickered over something inconsequential. Harry was still a bit tired, and he didn't particularly feel like straining his voice to make himself heard whenever he had something to say. As for Draco, he was still feeling strangely put out by Weasley's rudeness. He scowled as he poked at the salad on his plate. It wasn't as if it was anything unusual. The other two thirds of the golden trio had accepted him as Harry's friend, but it was grudgingly and purely for Harry's sake. He knew they didn't like him, and they had plenty reason not to. It hadn't bothered him before, why was he suddenly irked about it now? He glanced at Harry. He'd been in a bad mood, god knows why, for the past week or so. Perhaps it was rubbing off on him.

Later that evening, Draco deposited Harry on his own bed before turning to finish up his homework. He dropped him a little rougher than perhaps he should have; he was feeling irritable in general and was irrationally annoyed that Harry was getting a week free from schoolwork. He pulled at the bangs that were getting long enough to hang over his eyes, and opened his textbook. Hopefully immersing himself in the art of potions would leave him feeling better.

Harry fell with a huff on the covers of his bed and watched as Draco brusquely turned his back on him. Feeling rather sullen, he crawled up the bed until he reached the edge of his blanket and then wriggled under it a bit. He felt quite ridiculous, really, having such a relatively huge bed for a tiny person. Shutting his eyes tightly, he hoped to fall asleep even though it was still pretty early. Of course, just willing himself into unconsciousness didn't work. The memory of Draco dropping him rather tersely popped into his mind and he frowned, turning over and punching the pillow. The dent he made was barely perceivable. He groaned, lying on his stomach, a feeling of restlessness plaguing him. He stupidly longed for the warmth of Draco's pocket and the soothing motion of Draco's walk.

After basically suffocating himself with his pillow, Harry decided that there was no way he was going to fall asleep as things stood. He got up, a bit shakily on the squishy sheets, and stumbled his way to the edge of the bed.

Draco looked up from his book at the sound of rustling; his first thought being that Hugo had somehow crawled onto his or Harry's bed again. But it wasn't Hugo. Harry was shimmying down his sheets. When he got to the floor, he scurried over to the window seat. It was quite the journey—he had to weave his way through the general debris coating the floor of his side of the room, occasionally climbing over mountains of clothes strewn here or there. Draco's frustration had waned greatly as he studied, but watching as Harry craned his neck to look up at the window cushion seemed to wash the rest of his irritation away. He found himself growing amused as Harry continued to stand there. Draco could almost see the gears in Harry's head turning; his teeny shoulders were set in frustrated determination as he tried to figure out a way to scale the wall up to the cushioned bench.

"What are you doing?" questioned Draco, a smile evident in his voice.

Harry glanced at him, and Draco caught the frown marring his face, before he turned back to glare at the stone. "Nothing," he said petulantly.

"Right. Well then, I'll just go back to my studying, shall I?" Draco turned around, letting his grin show only when his back was to Harry. He waited patiently, knowing it was only a matter of time.

_Three, _thought Draco, _two… one._

"Fine," came the little huff. "Can you help me up?"

"Why, certainly," was Draco's cheeky reply. He pushed back from his desk and walked over to Harry, dropping down to a crouch when he got there. Harry didn't look at him as he climbed onto the offered hand. Draco lifted him to the window where Harry quickly clambered off. For a moment Draco simply watched as Harry walked over to the window and stuck his nose against the glass, pressing his hands onto the cold surface. A tiny cloud of condensation formed from his breath. With a sigh, Draco stood up and went back to his desk.

Harry shifted slightly so his forehead was resting on the window and closed his eyes. The cold, hard, immobileness of the glass was a welcome contrast to the warm rocking sensation he stupidly longed for. He opened his eyes again. From here he could see the whole lake and much of the Forbidden Forest. The darkness of night permeated everything and gave Harry a hushed, calm feeling. He _felt_ tiny, staring out from this window high up on a tower, tiny and inconsequential. It offered him some perspective and left him feeling refreshed. It was a nice feeling, and the corners of his mouth tugged upwards in a small smile. He slid down until he was sitting against the glass and stared out at the silent landscape, letting the feeling of peace wash over him.

A couple hours later, Draco set down his quill and stretched. Their exams had finished today, and now they had the weekend ahead of them before the next term started. They didn't technically have homework, but Draco had wanted to get some extra studying in. He was trying harder this year than ever before. Now he wanted to get good scores to prove that he was more than just the Malfoy name, rather than to impress his father. Somehow, he felt much more motivated when he was doing it for himself. He turned from his desk to see what Harry was up to. But Harry was so small that Draco couldn't see him properly from where he was, so he got up and went over to the window seat. He smiled a bit to himself when he saw that Harry was slouched over, fast asleep. The small boy had seemed more exhausted lately, and although he wouldn't ever admit it, even to himself, Draco had been a bit worried. Only now that his face was relaxed did Draco notice that it had been tensed up recently. Something in his chest loosened a bit when he looked at the little Harry snoring softly, looking so peaceful in his sleep.

Harry shivered slightly. Draco mused that it must be cold for such a tiny body to be pressed up against the chilled window. Carefully, he scooped Harry up before setting him down in his bed and tucking his comforter around him. He smirked a bit; it was amusing to see such a small person lying in such a relatively huge bed. Once his roommate was taken care of, Draco took a few more minutes getting ready for bed before crawling under his own blankets. He whispered a soft nox, extinguishing the magical light, and fell asleep quite quickly. It had been an interesting day.

The next morning, Harry awoke to find himself buried in a veritable sea of fabric. Sometime during the night he'd managed to roll further beneath the blankets so that now he was effectively submerged. The morning light was shining through the comforter so it wasn't completely dark, but it was quite disorienting and unnerving to be surrounded on all sides. Harry rather felt like he'd somehow made his way into a very deep cave. A rather soft and squishy cave. He didn't know which way was which, but he didn't really fancy suffocating, so he chose a direction and set out in it. He wasn't actually _that _small, so it didn't take him too long to reach the edge of the bed. The only issue was, he couldn't really tell one lump of fabric from the next, so when he did reach the edge he walked right over it. With a squeak, he fell, luckily still enclosed in the blanket that had somehow fallen half off the bed. He landed on more of it, and by the time he finally managed to crawl out onto the floor he was out of breath and quite put out.

"Shut up," he said to Draco who had just sat up in his own bed and was presently smirking at Harry.

By the time they got to breakfast Harry wished he could just crawl back into bed and stay there for the next week. Getting ready had been a frankly humiliating ordeal. It was infuriating. He had to rely on Draco to shrink everything for him seeing as he couldn't use his wand (it resisted any and all shrinking attempts and he hadn't even bothered to try lifting it in this state.) Showering had been a particularly bad experience, as he couldn't operate the shower and they soon found, after Draco had turned it on for him, that that simply wouldn't work. The droplets of water were flying hard and fast, relatively, by the time they reached Harry on the tiles of the floor, and each drop that hit him broke over his shoulders like a boulder. He got splashed twice before he could yelp and jump out of the way, slipping in the veritable lake that was the puddle of water on the ground, and falling along with the last shreds of his dignity. It took a couple minutes of brainstorming before Draco transfigured a hairbrush into a sieve of sorts. Harry stood in the sink while Draco held the strainer to the tap, effectively making a teeny tiny shower. Harry had to wash himself in those circumstances, with Draco handing him a tiny drop of shampoo or soap every so often. The entire time, Harry felt as if his face must be on fire he was blushing so much. It didn't help that Draco kept sniggering.

He was greatly relieved when he finally pulled on his shrunken clothes, but he still couldn't look Draco in the eye as they made their way to the Great Hall. He felt pretty miserable, and for the first time in a while he longed to be anywhere _without _Draco's presence.

When he was set down on the table he shuffled over to Hermione and beckoned for her to lean over so he could whisper in her ear. Her bushy hair blocked his view, but she glanced over and saw Draco's frown. She sat back up and looked at Harry who was staring at her with wide eyes. He hoped his smallness would help in this one case at least. Girls liked small things, right?

"I don't know, Harry," said Hermione, her eyes flicking to Draco and back again. "Didn't Professor Mcgonagall say—"

"C'mon, Hermione, please?" He widened his eyes further. They were beginning to water from the prolonged exposure to air.

Hermione relented, possibly because she thought he was almost crying. He wasn't, but if it helped his case than he was happy to let her believe he was. He absently mused that Draco would probably be proud; it was quite Slytherin.

"Oh fine," she said. "I still don't see why though…" Harry didn't mind her muttering so long as she kept her word.

The rest of breakfast was spent quite amicably, for Harry at least. He chatted a bit with Ginny. It was the first time they'd really had time to talk since the beginning of seventh year and Harry realized he'd forgotten how cool she was. It was still a bit awkward—after the war Harry hadn't really been sure how things stood between them, and then it hadn't really seemed right to talk about relationships when everyone was still grieving and attending funerals over the summer. When things began settling down he thought maybe he should talk to her—were they supposed to be going out again, or did things change over the year they spent apart?—but she hadn't seemed to be thinking about _them _at all, so he'd left it alone, and now with the special 8th year tower and all he hadn't seen her around much. As they chatted about quidditch he became relaxed as he realized they were still friends and she didn't seem to be asking for anything more. He didn't know _why _that made him feel relieved as he sort of thought he should want to get back together with her, but the fact was that he didn't really, and he also didn't really want to analyse why he felt that way. So he left it well enough alone and just enjoyed talking to her.

A couple seats over, Draco wasn't feeling quite as comfortable. It surprised him to realize that this was the first meal in a while in which Harry wasn't next to him in some way. It was definitely the first time he was at Gryffindor table without the Chosen One. He suddenly felt quite out of place and had an overwhelming urge to tug at his beacon-like hair or adjust his blaringly green tie. He suppressed the urge with a minutia of difficulty and, for the first time in a while, felt his expressionless Malfoy mask slip on. It felt unfamiliar on his face but even Weasley, who was at least somewhat amicable towards him, had his back towards him as he chattered to his girlfriend. The people on Draco's side of the table were not as friendly—just a couple seats down he recognized Jimmy Peakes and Nigel Wolpert who were sending him dark glances. He stifled a shiver and sent them a cool glare. The warm raucousness of the Gryffindor table suddenly seemed chill with the absence of his little ambassador and Draco sent a furtive glance to the Slytherin table across the hall before looking back at his plate. He didn't feel all that hungry. What was Harry doing, anyway? Draco looked up from beneath his fringe to find Harry happily chattering with the Weaslette. He tried to angle his body towards them and listen in; perhaps he could join in on the conversation, but Granger was between Draco and the girl Weasel and was bickering with Ron across from her. Really, it just left Draco feeling oddly left out.

This was stupid. How was it that without the bloody boy who lived he suddenly lost all savoir-faire? He was better than this; he was a Malfoy. It was nothing, Harry had just decided to catch up with his other friends, and he was perfectly entitled to that. This stupid slightly clenching feeling in his gut was pathetic and inexplicable. He could feel the corners of his mouth pursing which was quite frankly alarming. He forced himself to relax and settle back into the Malfoy mask. He didn't need Harry Potter to baby sit him twenty four seven; goodness he'd become so disgustingly dependent and he hadn't even noticed it. Well he _was_ surrounded by Gryffindors all the time, perhaps they'd rubbed off on him. Now there was a disturbing thought.

At the end of breakfast Draco looked over to Harry. After all, even if he wanted to gain back his independence he still had to carry Harry around all day, Mcgongall'd decreed it. But the tiny boy was looking up at Hermione. She sighed before picking him up and turning to Draco.

"Can I take Harry for the day?" she asked. Draco blinked. "He doesn't really need to stay with you since there're no classes today and we've missed him."

The "we" in that sentence sounded so natural, so practiced. It encapsulated seven years of Golden Trio, and it was clear that, despite the new development of the Granger-Weasel relationship, they were still a very closely encapsulated unit. Draco suddenly felt Goyle's absence and Crabbe's death more strongly than even at Crabbe's funeral.

He looked at Harry who was studiously not looking back. He turned to address Hermione. "Alright."

That said, he grabbed his bag and made to leave. Outside the Great Hall he hesitated for a moment before turning to go to the library. He had the whole day to himself; he might as well spend it productively. It was with a sigh that he began walking towards the staircase, resigned to a day spent alone.

* * *

**A/N: **Arg. I'm not particularly happy with this chapter. I revised it over and over again and at one point contemplated completely redoing it. But I told myself to just suck it up and finish it, so finish it I did and although it's definitely not my favourite chapter I think I've got it to a place where I can post it. Sigh. Things should start getting more interesting in the next chapter. Hopefully.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed! They make my day. :]


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: **Really, I've been saying this every chapter. In case you missed it the last four times, I don't own Harry Potter. Or anything by J.K. Rowling, rather unfortunately.

**A/N:** I'm just going to keep sneaking references to my favourite books in there until someone tells me to stop.

* * *

**Ameloriate**

**Chapter 5**

Somehow, Draco managed to wile away the time until dinner doing absolutely nothing. Well, he supposed it wasn't totally nothing; he did get some studying done after all. But he didn't feel very accomplished. He mainly just felt surly. Surly and bored. Since when was the world so utterly boring? He didn't have any homework, and he could really only study so much when he didn't have to. But even still, he'd gone to the library and sat down at a table in the back. He'd taken out his books, and spent a good three minutes arranging parchment and texts in the optimal studying/note taking formation. It was only once he'd done all this that he realized he didn't have any ink. The well of dark green in his bag only had a little lining at the bottom, not nearly enough to coat his quill with. For a moment he just stared at the dark emerald ink, contemplating it's…inkiness.

It was with a sigh that he gathered himself up and put everything back into his bag. He trudged back down to the Tower, trying to ignore the stares—glares more like—that hadn't abated since school began, but that he'd somehow managed to forget about in lieu of his newfound friendship with Harry.

Once in his dorm, he picked up some ink, paused to pet Hugo, and then made his tedious way back to the library. He managed to take three pages of notes before the words began to lose all meaning and the feeling of patheticness—that he was sitting here, doing homework, when he really didn't have to be—got to be too much. But he didn't have anything else to do. The fact of the matter settled heavily on his shoulders and made him wonder when his life became so dull. Probably around the time Voldemort was vanquished, he thought. Before that his life was comprised of terror. He sighed.

After a while he'd gone outside and taken a walk on the grounds. It was overcast, and the grass was littered with crunchy leaves. When he was about halfway around the lake, the sky opened up and let out a deluge of cold, hard rain. He stood in it for a moment, and was soon soaked and shivering. Something was rising in his chest, slithering and boiling up his throat, but he angrily smothered it. He was a Malfoy, and Malfoy's didn't make undignified noises, even when soaked in rain. So he just took out his wand, cast an umbrella charm then warming and drying spells, and turned to make his way back to the castle.

By now it was dinner time, and his stomach was aching a bit, although he didn't really feel like eating. He'd skipped lunch, however, so he reluctantly turned towards the Great Hall only to pause before the doors. He suddenly felt horribly awkward. Where was he to sit? Would Harry be at the Gryffindor table? And even if he was, would he pay Draco any mind?

Eyes, confused and bemused and the usual hateful, followed him as he turned around and headed towards the kitchens. He hated eating in there, amongst house elves, but he'd rather that then sit on the side lines while Potter flirted with the Weaslette, and Granger and Weasley drooled at each other. Gryffindors really were quite sickening when it came to affection. He ate a quick dinner before retreating back to the Tower. For want of anything better to do, he settled into the squishy couch in front of the fire, Granger's worn copy of Shadow of the Hegemon in his fingers.

He'd just gotten to an interesting part involving the Thai military when the portrait swung open to admit Potter and his rowdy friends. His tiny form was sitting on Weasley's shoulder and laughing riotously. Draco spared a glance for them before attempting to bury his nose back in his book, but much to his disdain they had the gall to settle all around him. Granger plopped right onto his couch, and he had to draw his legs up in order to avoid her pert bum. Girl Weasley sat on her other side, and quickly engaged her in a heated discussion, the contents of which Draco didn't bother himself with. Weasley settled into the armchair by the fire, and set Harry down rather pompously on the chessboard in front of him.

Draco set the back of his book down conveniently on his knees—they were now right under his nose—and tried to ignore the sounds of Weasley trying to goad Potter into a game of chess.

Bean was meeting Peter for negotiations. Harry had given in and moved his first pawn. Draco meticulously turned a page and did not look over his book as Harry attempted to lift his knight. Honestly, he knew that a wizard's chess set tended to be expensive, but couldn't Hogwarts have afforded one for their common room?

He mentally shook his head. He was sorely tempted to retreat to the silence and solitude of his room, but that felt like it would be admitting defeat. So he gamely stayed put and tried to put up with Peter's stupidity.

Fifteen minutes later and he had effectively re-immersed himself in his book. Only to be yanked out again by the sound of his name.

"I'll bet Draco's good at chess," Harry was saying. Draco looked up to see that he was slowly tottering about the board, struggling to carry his rook.

"Cool," replied Weasley distractedly. "Now will you hurry up already? I'm getting seriously bored."

Harry huffed. "Well I'm _sorry_ but in case you couldn't tell, it's sort of difficult for me to move the pieces!"

Weasley snickered. "However come? I don't see any disability. You look just the same as always."

"Oh continue with the short jokes why don't you. There. Rook to D4." He grunted a little as he set his piece down.

"Knight to D4," said Ron, succinctly taking the piece that Harry had laboured to place off the board. "Your turn again." Harry groaned. Ron continued, "You know, I think I might actually like you better this way. You're nice and bite-sized."

"You know what?" said Harry, giving up on lifting his queen. "This is stupid. Hey, Draco!"

Draco tried to act like he hadn't been listening to them for the past couple minutes. "What do you want?"

"Come over and play chess with Ron. I'll referee."

Ron scowled. "You don't need a referee in chess, Harry."

Harry ignored him. "Come on!"

Draco frowned. Did Harry really expect him, Draco Malfoy, to play chess—muggle chess at that—with a Weasley? Perhaps his tiny brain could no longer comprehend such social axioms such as Malfoys and Weasleys do—not—mix.

"Oh don't be a prat," Harry was practically whinging now. "Or is it that you're scared?"

"I am not—" started Draco. Him, scared of a little game of chess?

"Well then get your uptight arse over here!"

Evidently, Harry had set his mind on Draco taking over his game. Well fine then, thought Draco, it wouldn't take too long anyways, right? He'll beat the Weasel in a minute and then retire to his room, where he would finally find some peace and quiet in which to finish his book. That settled, he bookmarked his page and strode over to the unoccupied armchair.

"Ha ha ha, prepare to be pummelled, ferret-face," was Ron's greeting. Draco sneered.

"I do hope you aren't talking to me, Weaselbee. Because if so then you've been horribly misinformed. You see, you, not I, are the one who's about to be 'pummeled' as you so put it."

Harry rolled his eyes at Draco's convoluted insult. "Oh just get on with the game, won't you?"

Draco sniffed, but turned his eyes to the board. "Merlin, Potter, have you completely misplaced that brain of yours? I know it's tiny, but honestly. Were you playing to lose?"

"Yeah, yeah, I suck at chess. Shoot me."

Ron and Draco spoke at the same time, "What?" and then looked up at each other in surprise.

"Oh, er, muggle saying," explained Harry, diffusing the sudden hesitant tension.

"Queen to F7," said Draco, and they commenced the game.

Everyone except Harry was mildly surprised at how evenly matched they were, and how amicable they could be when their minds were busy strategizing instead of hating. Of course, they exchanged plenty of insults, but they were all said in the slightly distracted manner of two opponents over chess, rather than two bitter enemies whose hatred went back generations. It was quite late by the time they finished, and the fire had dwindled down to gently burning embers. The common room had all but cleared out, leaving only Draco, Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Ginny had retired half an hour ago since she had to walk all the way back to Gryffindor, but Hermione had stayed to watch the game. She wasn't really one for playing herself, but she appreciated the mental challenge it provided. Or perhaps she just enjoyed watching Ron excel at something intellectual for once.

In the end, Ron won. As soon as he said checkmate, he was up and doing a wonky sort of jig. He high-fived Harry extensively, resulting in Harry landing quite hardly on his arse.

"Ha! In your ferrety little face!"

"Unlikely," drawled Draco back, "You realize you only won because Harry had already thrown the game beyond any salvageable repair. Really, it's a testament to my insurmountable skill that I was able to prolong the inevitable for so long."

"Sure, sure, Malfoy. Big words, but really you just don't want to admit that you _lost_! I _beat _you! Ha!"

Draco rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth were twitching. "Whatever, Weasley. Believe what you want. We'll just have to have a rematch since this game was ruined by Harry."

"Yes! Rematch! I hate to admit it, but you're actually a fair hand at chess, Malfoy. Unlike this one," he jabbed his thumb in Harry's direction.

"Alright, alright!" cried Harry around a yawn. "I think we've established that I'm bad at chess!"

"I don't know," said Draco, fully grinning now. "I don't think it's been said enough. We have to warn everyone who could possibly want to play chess with you. To stay away."

"Yeah, yeah. Well I think you two are too evenly matched. Do you know how late it is?" Ron shrugged. "Bloody late, that's how! Now, if you two don't mind, I'd like to get to bed."

Ron snickered. "You sound like Hermione."

"I agree with Harry," said Hermione from her curled up position on the couch. She stretched. "I'm falling asleep over here."

"I guess we'll just have to have our rematch some other time, eh, Malfoy?"

"I suppose so. I guess it's my job to escort this one up to bed?"

Harry frowned as Draco scooped him up. He did not appreciate being referred to as "this one" and that was the second time tonight. They bid Ron and Hermione goodnight in the common room before heading up to their dorm.

"So now you and Ron are friends," Harry said conversationally as he pulled on his shrunken pyjamas.

"What?" Draco stuck his head out of the bathroom door. Harry sniggered; Draco's hair was all clipped up with bobby pins in preparation for washing his face. "Weasley and I are most definitely not friends."

"Well at least he likes you now."

"What on earth gave you that impression?"

Harry shrugged. "You're good at chess. I think that's pretty much all it takes to get into his good graces."

"Hmm," was Draco's reply as he retreated back into the bathroom.

"And you're already friends with Hermione."

"Do explain," called Draco over the sound of the tap.

"Well you read the books she gives you, and actually like them."

There was a moment where the only sound coming from the bathroom was the sound of Draco scrubbing his face. Then he paused, seeming to realize something. "Oh god," he said, "I'm becoming friends with a bunch of _Gryffindors_."

Harry laughed. "It's not the end of the world."

"No it _is!_" Draco groaned, but then straightened up. "No it's alright. Even if they're friends with _me _I don't have to be friends with _them_."

"I'm not sure it works like that."

"Sure it does."

"Alright fine," said Harry as he shimmied up his sheets in order to get in his bed. "You aren't friends with any Gryffindors. Besides me, of course."

"Yes, and that only because it's to my advantage to be on good terms with you."

"Oh, I see, that's what it's all about is it?" Harry grinned at Draco. "You're just nice to me because I'm famous?"

"Of course," Draco sniffed, getting into bed himself. "God forbid I ever become friends with Gryffindors for any other reason. I may eat with you on occasion, but I'll have you remember that I am through and through a Slytherin."

"Oh, I know that. There is no one more cowardly than thee."

Draco made to throw his pillow at Harry; the only thing stopping him was that he'd probably crush the little boy.

Harry laughed. "Goodnight, Mr Slytherin."

"'Night, Gryffindork," replied Draco, before muttering a quick _nox _and dousing the room in darkness.

The next day, Sunday, passed fairly uneventfully. They didn't do much, just hang around the common room mainly, but Draco found himself in a much better mood than he was the day before. He tried to tell himself it wasn't because he was hanging around with the Golden Trio, and they were all acting remarkably friendly. It was odd… and a bit unnerving, but not altogether too bad. As long as Draco didn't think about how he was hanging about with three _Gryffindors_.

Seeing as how Draco finished Hegemon before lunchtime, Hermione lent him Shadow Puppets and then proceeded to discuss Hegemon with him in detail, analysing each character and discussing the politics of the situation.

"I don't understand," said Harry during a lull in Hermione's diatribe. "Why does it matter whether Peter's a psychopath or not? He's just a character, right?"

"It doesn't _matter_, per say," answered Hermione, flicking a frizzy strand of hair over her shoulder.

"Then why are you guys arguing about it?" demanded Ron, obviously just as confused as Harry.

"Well, because—because it's interesting."

"I still don't get it," said Harry, shaking his tiny head.

"Yeah," agreed Ron, "I mean, sure it's interesting, but you guys don't have to get at each other's throats for it. It's just a book."

"We're not 'getting at each other's throats,' Ron. We're just having an intellectual, hypothetical debate."

"Er… why?"

"Because it's fun," drawled Draco, as if it were obvious.

"Right. Nope, still not getting it."

"Well you're not the one having the debate, are you? Why don't you guys stop bugging us and go play exploding snap or something," said Hermione, waving her hand at them.

"C'mon, Harry," said Ron, snatching the little boy off the couch he shared with Hermione, "Let's go play exploding snap like normal, _sane _people."

Harry laughed as Ron carried him away, and Hermione turned back to Draco, resuming their discussion.

Later in the evening, after dinner, Ron engaged Draco again for that promised rematch, and they sat down for another long game. Harry recruited Neville to be his chauffer after growing bored of watching chess, and they quickly found Seamus and Dean to come play some more exploding snap. By the end of the fifth game, Harry was feeling quite snapped out. He had Neville escort him back to the area around the fireplace, just in time to hear Draco declare, "checkmate!"

"Bugger," said Ron, dropping his head into his hands. Hermione patted his shoulder consolingly. There was a moment in which Harry worried that Ron would be upset and the fragile almost-friendship between him and Draco would be shattered, but when Ron lifted his head up he was grinning. "It's so nice to finally have some competition!" he said, getting up. "Great game, mate." He clapped Draco on the shoulder before stretching. "Man, now I'm exhausted. Think I'm going to go up to bed now. Night everyone!" he called as he headed towards the dormitories.

Harry watched him go, and then turned to see Draco's reaction. His roommate was staring after Ron, mainly just looking bemused.

"I have to say I'm impressed," said Harry from where he was on the couch besides Draco's armchair. "No one's been able to beat Ron before."

"I _told_ him that the only reason why he won last time was because of you ruining the board for me," he replied. "You Gryffindors must all be truly abysmal at chess, if he's the best you've got. Really, he was no competition at all."

"No competition at all, eh? Is that why it took you three hours to beat him?" He laughed at Draco's scowl. He opened his mouth to retort, but was interrupted by a very large yawn by Harry.

"That's so undignified," commented Draco with an expression of vague horror, "at least cover your mouth."

Harry grinned cheekily, exposing his teeth for Draco to see.

"Harry, you look exhausted. You should really go up to bed," admonished Hermione, closing her book. "You need your sleep if you want your body to work off the poison within the week."

"Alright, alright," replied Harry with another yawn. He pointedly didn't cover his mouth and Draco wrinkled his nose in disgust but picked him up anyway. "G'night, 'Mione," called Harry. Draco muttered a polite goodnight and they made their way up to their room.

* * *

The next couple of days passed relatively peaceably. Harry and Draco got used to each other's presence and comfortable around each other beyond how they were as roommates, and Harry spent more time with Ginny, now that he didn't feel quite as awkward, being small and all. Every night she snuck into their Tower and chatted with him while Draco and Ron played chess. Harry rather liked the whole arrangement, and almost forgot completely about wishing to return to normal size. When he did, it came as a surprise, although that may also have been in part because it happened two days earlier than anticipated.

Luckily, it evening and he was already in his room; if it had been anywhere else he would have been completely mortified. It happened rather abruptly, really. Harry was sitting on the window seat, Draco doing homework at his desk—rather like the arrangements the first night he'd turned tiny. All of a sudden, the world was shrinking at an alarming rate and he felt the most uncomfortable sensation, as if his skin and muscles were stretching over too-large bones. His shrunken clothes were _much _too small to accommodate him, and promptly ripped to shreds, leaving him stunned and horribly naked.

His first rather startled thought was that he was glad their window faced the empty grounds and not a courtyard where he would be visible to dorms across from him.

His second thought was, _ohmygod Draco._

"Don't turn around!" He cried, much too loudly for he was accustomed to speaking up to compensate for his tiny lungs.

Draco froze in the act of doing just that, and turned back to his homework.

"Close your eyes?" pleaded Harry, his face burning.

"They're closed," announced Draco. Harry, covering himself with his hands as best he could, ran to the bathroom and slammed the door. Sure, Draco had seen him naked daily for the past almost-week when he showered, but there seemed to be a huge difference between Draco seeing him naked when he was tiny and Draco seeing him naked _now._ Although why he was reacting so extremely, he didn't care to think about. After all, he'd shared a locker room with other boys for six years, what was he embarrassed about?

"I take it the potion wore off?" Draco called, opening his eyes and turning to address the bathroom door.

"Er, yeah," replied Harry, trying to return his voice to a more ordinary volume.

"Need some clothes?"

"Er, yeah," said Harry again, even quieter.

Draco went to Harry's wardrobe to fetch some pyjamas, only to realize that Harry only owned the one pair that he'd just basically shredded. At least he had more than one pair of pants and an abundance of hideous t-shirts. Draco pulled out a grossly baggy shirt and grinned as he grabbed a pair of pants that was Gryffindor scarlet with little cartoon lions roaring and stomping around. "You don't have any pyjamas," he called through the wood of the door. "Do you want to sleep in pants or do you want to borrow a pair of mine?"

"Um." Replied Harry. "Could I borrow some?" It was getting rather cold at night, what with it being November and all.

Draco nodded absently even though Harry couldn't see him, and fetched his more worn pair out of his wardrobe. "Here you are," he said. Harry opened the door a crack, just far enough so that he could take the folded clothes, and thanked Draco before hastily putting them on. "It's no problem," replied Draco to his thanks, "Those are my worst pair of pyjamas anyways."

Harry was amused to see that even Draco's worst pair were an expensive-looking dark green silk.

He came out of the bathroom, running his hand through his hair, and fell down onto his bed. It felt so _nice _to fit in it normally again. Hugo bumped his nose into Harry's arm and Harry lifted him up over his head. "You are actually quite terrifying when you're bigger than me, did you know that? I think I know how you feel around us big people now. Sorry we're so scary and loud all the time." Hugo sniffed rather indignantly, as if to say that he was never scared, what on Earth was Harry talking about?

"I wonder why it wore off early?" pondered Draco.

"I have no idea," replied Harry, "but man am I glad it's finally over. Although, actually, being small wasn't all that bad."

"You just liked having your own personal chauffer."

"Hmm, that may have played a part."

"And not having to do any work. Speaking of, you should probably get started on the homework you have to catch up on."

"What?" Harry sat up suddenly. "But it's already—"he cast a quick tempus,"—eleven thirty!"

"You're still up, aren't you? Might as well use your time wisely. But then again, it's up to you. I'm sure Snape would be very understanding when he hears that you've finally gotten over the effects of your incompetence only to lounge around and put off your make up work because you're tired."

"Alright, alright," Harry capitulated, sighing heavily as he dragged himself over to his desk.

And that was that, Harry had returned to normal size and normal sized responsibilities. He almost wished he could have stayed tiny.

* * *

Come Saturday, however, Harry was thoroughly glad to be back to his five foot seven self. He couldn't very well cheer properly if the loudest he could yell was equivalent to anyone else's inside voice.

Since eighth years technically weren't supposed to exist, neither he nor Draco had any right to be on the Quidditch team. It had been quite a blow at first, but the fact that his team would be in the hands of Ginny helped greatly. It had taken a month or two, but eventually he had gotten over his jealousy and could now look forward to Quidditch matches as much as anyone else. So on Saturday, he dressed up in the most outrageously scarlet and gold clothes he had, and headed down to the pitch alongside Draco (trussed up in a disgusting amount of silver and green) and Ron, who was sporting what looked to be a poor copy of Luna's lion head hat. Hermione, much to the horror of the boys, had opted to stay inside and continue studying for her NEWTS.

The match was utterly brilliant—Gryffindor against Slytherin—but really there wasn't much competition. Draco had been Slytherin's only good seeker, really, and the one they had now was rather pitiable. The only reason the game lasted for as long as it did—two hours—was because the Slytherins were being completely brutal and cheating in any way they could. Apparently, their new tactic was to attempt to murder Gryffindor's seeker, because really that was the only way they had any hope of winning. So Ginny had to dodge bludgers and players alike, whilst simultaneously searching for the snitch.

Harry screamed his throat raw, half cheering for his team and half reprimanding the Slytherin's foul play. Meanwhile, Draco called abuse to the Gryffindors from his seat beside him, and encouraged his house team unreservedly. The students sitting around them, mostly Gryffindors, glanced at the pair worriedly from time to time. It was still quite novel to most that Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy could stand besides each other during a Quidditch game without tearing each other to pieces. And at times they were right to be concerned.

"Are you bloody kidding me?" screamed Harry. "That was so obviously a foul! FOUL!"

"Oh honestly, Potter, they didn't even touch her!" Draco spat back, eyes still rooted on the action.

"Didn't touch her?" Harry turned halfway to Draco, trying to keep the game in sight whilst glaring at his roommate in indignation. "They hit that bludger right at her head! From two feet away!"

Draco shrugged. "So? There're no rules against hitting bludgers!"

"There are rules against intentionally murdering fellow Quidditch players!"

"They didn't murder her!"

"They were obviously trying to! Attempted murder! Still a crime!"

"That's Quidditch! She had it coming, anyway—didn't you see the way she nearly knocked Harper off his broom?"

Harry was about to tackle Draco, but at that moment the crowd surged, half in ecstatic shrieks and half in disappointed boos and aws. Harry whipped around to look back at the pitch. "What is it? What's happened?" he screamed.

"It would appear that the Slytherin team's beaters have been distracted by some Dabberblimps, which is rather unfortunate although not entirely unexpected. There's been a plethora of them around here lately. You really have to watch out for them, because, you see, they'll steal all your left socks and—"

Luna's dreamy commentary was rather unhelpful so Harry grabbed Draco's arm and screamed in his ear, "WHAT HAPPENED?"

"The Weaslette caught the snitch," came his muffled moan; he was cradling his head in his hands, obviously quite depressed.

For a moment Harry stood there in shock, and then he joined the rest of the crowd in whooping loudly and turned to face Ron on his other side. Together they jumped up and down and practically squealed. Draco looked on in disdain.

"Did you see—" exclaimed Ron, his eyes bright.

"And when she—" answered Harry, his grin splitting his face.

"With the spin and the feint—" he waved his arms in a crazed fashion.

"His face when she went like—" he jumped and appeared to do a weird little dance.

Draco groaned and followed a pace behind them as they spilled out of the bleachers with the crowd, keeping up a stream of verbal and physical play-back the entire way up to Gryffindor. He hesitated at the portrait hole, but no one seemed to be complaining about his presence, the eighth year Tower would be empty at this time, and he didn't particularly feel like going down to Slytherin—he wasn't quite welcome there anymore, especially when they were all in an abysmal mood from losing Quidditch—so he climbed in behind Harry to face the loud victory party. It was so chaotic, and everyone was so excited, that they paid him no mind even though he stuck out like a sore thumb in his green and silver.

A moment after they walked into the common room, they were spotted by Ginny who was the centre of attention, obviously. She caught Harry's eye and strode towards him through the crowd, her eyes glinting in victorious glee. He had a sudden sense of déjà vu, and then a sudden armful of Ginny and mouthful of red hair.

The hug only lasted for a split second; very quickly Ginny was leaning back and beaming at him, her arms still circled around his neck. But it was enough that he felt a strange awkwardness overtake him. He wasn't tiny anymore, and he'd become fast friends with her again whilst he was shrunken, so what did that mean for them now? Was he supposed to kiss her, like he had a year ago when they were in this situation? Last time… last time it had been so instinctual, so natural and _right_; they'd fallen into each other so easily and it had felt amazing, perfect even. But now… now Harry found himself waffling—did he want to kiss her? Well why shouldn't he? But then why was he so confused about it all? Why hadn't he just _kissed _her already?

A year had passed. Did she still want him to?

He was overcome by a horrible uneasiness and then she was pulling away completely and chattering in his face. "—And then I saw the snitch right under Harper's nose but the idiot was too busy ogling Parsons and so I—Harry, Harry are you listening?"

If she was talking to him, that meant she didn't want to kiss him, right? Since she was busy using her mouth to ramble? So did that leave him relieved or sad or angry? His emotions were all jumbled up and confused.

"Harry!" She snapped her fingers in front of his eyes, and he started.

"Huh? Oh, sorry. Yeah, so Harper?"

And just like that she launched back into her narrative, Ron jumping in with the occasional sound effect or demonstration. Harry shook his head as they made their way over to the seats by the fire. What was wrong with him? It wasn't a big deal whether or not she wanted to kiss him right at this moment. He wasn't even sure if he wanted to kiss her right at this moment. Whatever, he could figure it out later. Right now they were celebrating! He pushed all complicated thoughts of Ginny to the back of his mind and jumped into the dissection of Ginny's catch that Draco and Ron were in the midst of.

* * *

Apparently, shoving something to the back of your mind and attempting to ignore it isn't an effective way of disposing of unwanted thoughts. Over the next couple of days, Harry found that the nice, easy camaraderie he'd had with Ginny for the past week had dissolved. Not completely—they were still pretty good friends and still chatted in the evenings during Ron and Draco's chess games—but there was definitely a new overtone of awkwardness. At times Harry found himself scrambling for conversation topics because he was so preoccupied with thinking, _does she want me to hold her hand? Should I sit closer to her or further away? _

Many a time he tried to convince himself that he was overreacting, that he should just leave it be and assume that they were just friends. But then Ginny would look at him like _that_—glancing surreptitiously whilst he was studying or eating lunch. Sometimes he'd trail off in the midst of a sentence because he noticed her eyes on him, her head tilted just a touch to the side as if in a question. And sometimes she would plop down on the couch in the common room, close enough that their thighs were touching—too close for friends. But she never initiated anything more, so Harry was left confused.

Of course, it wasn't as if he was _always _contemplating the dilemma that was his relationship with Ginny—most of the time he was perfectly content to chatter with Ron on the way to class or allow Hermione and Draco to force him to study. But apparently he was preoccupied enough that Draco noticed it. Or maybe Draco was just freakishly observant.

"So what's wrong with you now?" he asked one evening.

Harry looked up from the paper crane he was attempting to fold (it was looking rather sad and crumpled and more like a slug than a crane) instead of doing homework. "Huh?"

"You've been acting weird lately. Well. More weird than normal."

"I have not. I've been acting just as weird as I always have," answered Harry.

"No, there's definitely something off."

"So what if there is?"

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Harry blinked. "Wait. Is Draco Malfoy actually offering to listen to my problems? Are you going to lend me your shoulder to cry on to? Pat my head and say 'there there?'"

"I'd rather listen to your dreary issues than watch you maul that poor piece of paper any longer. If you're not going to talk to me then at least stop procrastinating and do your homework."

"Hey, you don't have any right to say that! You do this all the time!" He gestured to the little army of pristine paper cranes on Draco's desk. They ranged from the size of his fist to smaller than his nail. "How do you make them anyway? I can't figure it out." Harry turned back to his paper and tried to contort it, resulting in it tearing rather pitiably.

"I, unlike you, do origami to help me think. It's not procrastinating if I'm contemplating a complex arithmancy problem while I fold. And you're avoiding the question."

"Well—well I'm contemplating a complex history of magic problem," said Harry rather petulantly. "Leave me alone."

Draco sighed. "Here, I'll make you a deal. If you tell me what's wrong, I'll teach you how to fold a paper crane. I can't watch you for another minute; you're giving me a migrane."

"Alright, alright, fine." Harry tossed his wrinkled paper onto his desk and leaned back in his chair, balancing it on two legs and interlacing his fingers behind his head.

A moment passed. "Well?" Draco prodded when Harry didn't say anything.

"Er, well, I mean…"

"It's about the Weaslette, right?"

"Don't call her that," Harry said automatically, then, "wait how'd you know that?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "I do have eyes, you know. And you've never been known as the master of hiding emotions."

"No, that would be you, wouldn't it," Harry said, a touch spiteful.

"Of course," replied Draco, easily. "Go on, it's about Ginny?"

"Yeah. Well—it's just—you know how we were going out?" He ran his hand through his hair. Draco eyed the resultant mess in disgust.

"Yes, the whole school knew, Potter."

"And then we broke up at the end of sixth year?"

"Now this I did not know, although I assumed as much. Let me guess, it was for some stupid, Gryffindoresque reason, right?"

"Er, something like that," said Harry, smiling a bit weakly. He remembered Ginny saying much the same thing when he broke it to her.

"So then what's the problem now?"

"Well, I broke up with her because I didn't want to put her in danger." He ignored Draco's eye roll. "But it was sort of with the intention to get back together once the war was over."

"So then get back together."

"But—but I don't know if she still wants to. I mean, right after the war, things were still all unstable and stuff, right? So I didn't want to bring it up. And then we haven't really talked much this year, and I sort of forgot about it," Harry explained, feeling a bit sheepish. "But now we've been hanging out more, and sometimes it seems like she wants to get back together, but I don't know what to do about it!"

Draco stared at him for a moment, contemplating. "Well, do you want to get back together with her?"

"Of course!" Harry replied automatically. Draco raised his eyebrow. "Well, I mean… I don't know. I feel like I should. I really did love her. Did you know? The moment before Voldemort killed me I thought of her, only her."

"Hmmm. You say you did love her. Do you not anymore?"

"I don't know!" Harry said, tugging at his hair. "I think I still do. She's still just as wonderful and cool and all, but…"

"But?"

"But I used to… There used to be a monster in my chest." Harry didn't look at Draco, but he could imagine his friend's raised eyebrows. "Shuddup. I used to get this feeling when I was around her, like I would find any excuse to touch her. Don't look at me like that! Not that way, you perv, just like, hold hands or brush shoulders or whatever. And I used to get this horrible feeling whenever I saw her with other guys."

"Okay… And now this… monster… is gone?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah. I still love her. But it's more like… how I love Hermione or how I love Ron. I feel like I should want to hold hands and kiss her, but I just don't."

"Alright. Well that's easy enough then; don't get back together with her."

"But… what if she wants to? What if she thinks I want to?"

"Harry," Draco said firmly. "Why don't you just talk to her about it? Just tell her what you told me, and then everything'll be cleared up."

"Can I do that?"

"Of course! Use your words, Potter, it's not that difficult!"

"Well… alright then. I guess. But what if she cries?"

"Did she cry when you broke up with her?"

"Well, no."

"Then what makes you think she'll cry this time?"

Harry shrugged.

"Just go talk to her. She won't cry, trust me. And maybe she'll even be happy about it."

"But—"

"Merlin help me, Potter, you will talk to her tomorrow or else I will skin your hedgehog."

Harry looked at him aghast. "You wouldn't."

"I would," said Draco, nodding. "So you'd better talk to the Weaslette. Tomorrow. During your free period."

For a moment they stared at each other, Harry trying to gauge how serious Draco was about Hugo. He was vaguely horrified to see how somber Draco was about the whole thing. The bastard _would _do it! Harry should have expected as much. Slytherins.

"Fine. I'll talk to her tomorrow."

"Good. Now that that's resolved. You feel better, don't you?"

Harry probed his emotions and was surprised to find that he did, a bit. They weren't all jumbled up and confused anymore, at least.

"Yeah, I guess I do. Er, thanks?"

Draco nodded superciliously. "You're welcome." And then turned back to his Arithmancy proofs.

"You owe me instructions on paper crane folding," said Harry as he smiled and turned back to his homework. It was strange. Who would have thought that Draco Malfoy would make such a good friend?

* * *

**A/N:** The next chapter will start getting closer to drarry-ness. Er. Sort of.


End file.
